


Civilians, GDI

by relenafanel



Series: THE Steve Rogers PROBLEM [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Actor Steve Rogers, Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternative Universe - FBI, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bottom Steve Rogers, Casual Sex, Eventual Happy Ending, FBI Agent Bucky, Falling In Love, Fuckbuddies, M/M, Phone Sex, Pining, Romantic Comedy, Sam is long-suffering but brings it on himself, Sexting, Slow Burn, Snark, Steve the cardboard cutout, The Howling Commandos (television show)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-10 07:18:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 41,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7835329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/relenafanel/pseuds/relenafanel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Special Agent Bucky Barnes doesn't think of himself as a hero. He's dedicated to his career, and if that keeps him far away from home, all the better.  His parents think that he should get a less dangerous job and meet a nice Brooklyn girl (or boy) to settle down with.  In Brooklyn.</p><p>That sounds like Bucky's definition of a living hell.  He's been running from it for <i>years.</i></p><p>Enter Steve Rogers.  Brooklyn boy.  Not always nice.  Hot as hell.</p><p>And a temptation Bucky can't resist, even after their initial failure of a meeting.</p><p> </p><p>  <b>This is an AU of <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/3509063"> the Steve Rogers problem </a>but stands alone - you don't have to read that part to understand this.</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The one where they sorta meet if Bucky had Netflix

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Гражданские, мать вашу](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10499967) by [Perfect_criminal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Perfect_criminal/pseuds/Perfect_criminal)



> You need to know 2 things about this fic:
> 
> 1\. It's an AU of [the Steve Rogers problem](http://archiveofourown.org/series/269689) drawing inspiration from:  
>  _it had been over a year and a half since the day Bucky pulled himself out of the wreckage in that clip. That Bucky Barnes had been brave, but there were different types of bravery. That Bucky Barnes wouldn’t have understood what it could mean to have and keep a man like Steve Rogers. Two years ago, if they had met Bucky would already have gotten what he wanted from Steve, had a few very pleasurable nights and left for a job, not bothering to contact Steve once he returned. He wouldn’t have tried to keep him, wouldn’t have even considered wanting to._
> 
>  
> 
> _And he would have missed out. The Bucky Barnes in that video was a fucking coward when it came to love, and he felt that he was so much better than that person._
> 
>  
> 
> This is the story about how THAT Bucky Barnes would have fallen for Steve Rogers anyway.
> 
> 2\. Before I came up with a title, I saved the word document under the label "fuckboy" as a pithy reference to **the Steve Rogers problem** being labelled as "fanboy". Bucky is a player, but he tries to be honest and open about it.

[ ](http://thatotherfiend.tumblr.com/post/149681494387)

 

Bucky received the call at 9:53 in the morning, and his stomach sank the same way it always did when he was directed to get on a flight to New York City.  Technically, getting into contact with his family was frowned upon, but he sent off a text to his sister anyway: _what are your plans today?_   Bucky loved his family, considered himself close to them through virtue of still having conversations with them despite the fact he hadn’t seen them for almost a year.

 

He didn’t consider himself a family-man, in any way, shape, or form, but to him the term meant something entirely different when it was referring to his parents and his sister, and not a spouse and children.  Bucky had no desire for that white picket fence (literal or metaphorical) that happened once one settled down into a relationship.  He enjoyed that his job could take him anywhere in the states, he liked waking up in Washington, DC and going to bed in California.

 

Settling down, to Bucky, meant _settling_. He wasn’t the type to settle for anything.

 

Still, every time the FBI’s Hostage Rescue Team was called in to New York City his stomach jumped.  It wasn’t the risk to 8 million people.  It was the risk to the three he cared about.  Bucky never worried about himself.  His job was dangerous, and he knew what he had signed on for, but the idea of those three people being caught up in collateral damage for the grand-scale type threats he got called in for made his stomach clench.

 

Becca didn’t text back.  At 10:37 Bucky boarded a government plane to New York and turned off his phone.

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Sam said, nodding to how Bucky had tightened his grasp around the cell before shoving it into his pocket.  “The assessment on this one is low-risk and contained.  The New York field office has decided not to evacuate yet.  We’ll be on standby.”

 

“You know as well as I do that if we’re on a plane already, that’s bullshit.”

 

Sam shrugged, digging a book out of his carry-on.  “Could be political. That’s happened before.  Someone thinks evacuating a building with thousands of people looks bad, makes the wrong call, people die.  Or, could be an unsubstantiated rumor.”

 

“Could be,” Bucky agreed, unconvinced.  “What are the chances Becca is at this thing?”

 

Sam’s attention turned back to Bucky with a frown.  “You know your sister better than I do.  Are you concerned?”

 

“Maybe,” Bucky hedged.

 

Sam observed him more carefully before he pulled back, clearly trying to hide his amusement in the face of Bucky’s worry.  “You have no idea what a comic con is, do you?”

 

“I know enough,” Bucky answered, resisting the urge to scowl.  No, that was wrong, he was scowling.  “I know enough to be concerned.  She likes that nerdy kind of shit.”

 

“See, a lot of people can say it like that and get away with it, but it sounds offensive coming out of your mouth.  Almost everyone likes some kind of nerdy shit.”

 

“Well I wasn’t trying to tiptoe around what it is,” Bucky responded.  “Bunch of grown adults with entitlement issues who live in their mother’s basements and spend all their time on the internet, all wearing weird costumes and gathering in one place.  It’s no wonder there’s a threat, the threat assessment practically writes itself.”

 

“You need hobbies,” Sam informed him.  “You need to like things so you can understand other people who have actual, shared interests.”

 

“I like things.” Bucky’s smile was all teeth.  “Other people seem to like it too.  It’s been a common interest to most people I willingly spend time with outside of work.”

 

“Ok, dick jokes, I’m going back to my book now.”  Sam tilted his head back down to the paperback in his hand.  Then he looked back up at Bucky.  “No, this is going to bother me for the rest of the flight if I don’t say it.  Do you not have a social life besides getting laid?  That can’t be healthy.”

 

“I enjoy sex, there’s no shame in it,” Bucky shrugged.  “I do other things besides people.  I go to the gym.  I’ve been known to read.  I watch the game at your place when you have us over.”

 

Sam snorted.  “Yeah, fine, do what you enjoy.  Just don’t lie about reading.”

 

“I read!” Bucky insisted.  Well, he knew how to, anyway.  Maybe he didn’t actually pick up a book that often, and when he did it was usually related to work. That was dedication, not a lack of interests.  It wasn’t Bucky’s fault that his main loves in life were his job and sex, and he enjoyed maintaining his physique for both. 

 

“What was the last thing you read?” Sam demanded.  “For fun.”

 

“A book on tactical warfare, and it was probably a lot better than what you’re currently reading if you’d rather bother me instead.”

 

“Look, I’m not saying you have to be a reader.  I’m not even saying you need to go out and get a lame hobby to spend time on, I’m just saying that you probably shouldn’t be calling people nerds when the last book you read for fun was on tactical warfare.”

 

“Yeah, touché,” Bucky conceded.  “Also, well done on keeping my mind off Becca for fifteen minutes.”

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

x.x.x.

 

Bucky wasn’t sure how it came to this.

 

That was a lie.  He knew exactly why he was crouched on the floor, his gun holstered beneath his shoulder, as he listened for sounds within the room.  The taser in his hand wouldn’t be effective against a bomb, but Bucky had been right in the threat assessment writing itself.  The building capacity was around ten thousand people and no one could get a bead on where the actual threat was.

 

There was a theory floating around the convention attendees that it was a publicity stunt, making it difficult to convince dedicated nerds to vacate the premises. They saw the tactical gear on the team, heard the announcements and the alarms, and considered it their right to spectate. Security had their hands full escorting people to the exits.

 

At least, until someone cut the power, and then everyone was in a panic to get out.  It was pandemonium on the floor, a real fucking clusterfuck of mismanagement that hadn’t improved since the FBI team’s arrival.  Incompetence gave Bucky a tension headache more than the idea of walking around a building with a possible bomb did.

 

Bucky was sweeping rooms in the back, where all of the staging and waiting areas for the actors were. He’d split with Sam in the last corridor, trying to clear the area as fast and competently as possible so their efforts could be focused on the floor.  Bucky needed to get to higher ground so he could get a clear view of the room.  Clint should already be in the rafters, and Clint was very competent but he was still just one person. 

 

So far he hadn’t come across anyone. At least it seemed like someone prioritized getting out the guests who would cause higher liability if they were hurt, at least as far as headlines and lawsuits went. It made Bucky’s job easier if he didn’t have to deal with frantic and entitled D-list actors, or whoever it was who willingly signed up for these things.    

 

He stepped out into the hallway, moving behind the scenes in the staging area reserved for the talent, and practically stumbled over someone crouched at the other side of the door, back flattened as he stared down the hallway.  Bucky immediately flattened himself beside the man, taking in his uniform and trying to figure out which unit he was from in the flickering florescent lights from the emergency lighting running on a failing energy source. 

 

Bucky was very careful not to get too close to the stranger until he assessed the threat level, but if the man happened to be threat, it was wise for him to develop a certain level of trust and rapport before backup showed up.

 

The stranger’s head turned towards him the moment Bucky was settled across from him.  “Bucky?” he questioned, eyes wide as he pulled back in surprise.  “Oh.  Oh, it’s actually bad, isn’t it, if you’re here?”

 

Bucky gritted his teeth.  This wouldn’t be the last time someone was introduced to him and remembered his nickname before they remembered his last name.  He liked being called Bucky, preferred it to James, but in situations like this it meant that the other person had considered his nickname ludicrous enough to remember and his last name unremarkable enough not to.  Bucky never considered that a good thing.  “Special Agent Barnes,” Bucky asserted through gritted teeth.

 

“Of course,” the man nodded.  "There's a man and it looks like he has a bomb strapped to his chest.  He's in the staging room over by Hall C.  There are three entrances to the room, and I doubt he can monitor them all at the same time.”

 

“What unit are you from?” Bucky questioned, squinting suspiciously at the man’s uniform.  It didn’t appear familiar to him.

 

“No unit,” the man answered, brow scrunching in confusion.  “I’m Captain America.”

 

“That’s unfortunate,” Bucky answered in a dry tone. Worst last name ever, especially in this career.  If Bucky thought it was annoying that people remembered Bucky over SA Barnes, this guy probably had it worse.  Maybe that was why the name Bucky stuck in his mind – implicit solidarity and all that.  There were a lot more pressing things at hand than this Captain’s last name, even if it was America.  He could laugh about it later, preferably with Sam and out of earshot of the Captain.  “Ok, I assume you have training with that thing,” he nodded at the sidearm holstered beneath the man’s left arm.

 

“This? Sure, I can be convincing.”

 

Bucky nodded.  “Come with me, then.”

 

x.x.x.

 

Captain America was next to useless with his weapon.  Somehow, despite fumbling and throwing aside his gun, he still managed to punch the guy with the bomb trigger in the face while the man stared at him, shell-shocked.  It was the most fucked up, confusing thing Bucky had ever witnessed.  The man hadn’t even been concerned with Bucky’s presence, but the moment Captain America showed up through another entrance, he froze.

 

It made Bucky feel sour.

 

“Who’s that?” Bucky questioned, nodding over to the Captain sitting on the lip of a parked ambulance as someone dabbed at his busted knuckle with a strange level of deference and delicacy. As someone who was used to walking off his injuries, even after being looked over by paramedics, it was a strange scene that stuck in his brain – standing out as being a potential concern. “Strategizes brilliantly but holds a weapon like he’s never taken a shot in his whole damn life.”  And his uniform.  In the light of day it was obviously not regulation.

 

Sam burst out laughing.  “Oh my god, that’s Captain America.”

 

“Yes, that’s what he said.”  Great.  Everyone knew who the man was except for Bucky.

 

“No, I mean… he’s _Captain America_.”

 

Bucky frowned and tucked his tongue to the corner of his cheek, trying to bite back his sarcasm and only succeeding in wearing the expression on his face.  “Saying it like that doesn’t make it mean more, though I know you think otherwise.  Is he some kind of war hero or something?  A dignitary?”

 

Some fucking figurehead officer who didn’t know how to shoot a fucking gun like a goddamn competent Captain.  He didn’t earn that rank, that was for sure.

 

What he said didn’t warrant the kind of laughter Sam was treating him to.  “ _Is he some kind of war hero_?” Sam echoed, almost doubled over.  “Would you do the world a favor and turn on your television sometime? It’s starting to affect your job.”


	2. The one where they ACTUALLY meet (and dicks are involved)

 

“Barnes, there’s someone in the lobby for you.” 

 

Bucky looked up to find one of his coworkers staring at him with barely concealed laughter, pointing his thumb towards the elevator.  Bucky wondered what kind of prank was waiting for him.  He knew it had to be at his expense, and it probably had to do with the Captain America debacle.  Bucky wouldn’t be living down the fact he mistook a semi-popular television show character as an actual Captain any time soon, especially since he’d relied on the man to help him in a hostage situation.

 

Bucky was lucky he still had a job.

 

He’d brought a civilian into a hostage situation.  A civilian! Goddammit.  The more he thought about it, the angrier he became.  He didn’t deserve to live that one down.  He wasn’t sure if having his supervisor read the report, laugh in his face for 5 minutes, and then put an official reprimand in his permanent file was the most discipline he deserved.  He probably should have been fired, or at least demoted off the HRT.

 

So he earned any kind of grief the team gave him about it.  For years.  He suspected that one of them had gone out and bought one of those life-sized cardboard cut-outs of Captain America and was planning a prank with it. 

 

It was less ‘suspected’ and more ‘had seen the invoice for it in the printer’.  He’d been expecting to walk into his office space and find the thing behind the door, or to go to the bathroom to catch sight of it in the mirror behind him.  Weeks later and nothing.

 

It was all harmless shit, but annoying.  Even if he did deserve it.  So Bucky rolled his eyes and went to see about his ‘visitor’.

 

Once he got to the lobby and spotted the broad shoulders and blond hair, he knew he was wrong: it wasn’t a cardboard cutout.  Bucky had been forced to watch enough clips of the man that he recognized the actor immediately this time.  “Looks like there’s a hero in the house,” he said in snide tones. “Let’s hear it for Captain America,” he finished with, clapping and watching as the man turned towards him, a helpless look on his face as a few other people in the lobby also started to clap.

 

Bucky realized his mistake when one of them actually looked at who they were clapping for and asked for an autograph, and the Captain smiled, a pained expression as he put down the gift basket he was holding and pulled a pen out of his pocket.

 

Bucky allowed it to happen with the kid, but when one of the agents moved forward, Bucky stepped between them.  “I need the Captain to come with me for some follow-up questions,” Bucky said, turning and walking towards the elevator and expecting to be followed.  There was no way he was bringing this civilian actor up to his desk in the open office space, so he pressed the button for the private interview rooms.

 

“I brought you an apology,” the man said, tilting the gift basket towards Bucky once they were in the elevator.  “I didn’t realize you didn’t recognize the name,” Captain America said, still awkwardly holding the gift basket of Keurig coffee pods and travel mug in his hands because Bucky hadn’t moved to take it.  It was a ridiculous gift basket to buy someone, especially someone who had no idea why they’d even receive a gift basket in the first place.  It was the ‘I had no idea what to buy or what you like’ of gift baskets, just one step away from being a fruit basket or a meat tray.

 

(Bucky really wanted it.  He had a coffee weakness he was not willing to admit to in present company, and there was sampler set of flavored syrups in that basket.  _Flavored syrups_.)

 

Bucky led the way out of the elevator instead, using his security fob to open one of the rooms.  Steve immediately took a seat on one side of the table, not even hesitating at the fact that he was very obviously in a room where suspects could be chained to the furniture.

 

“Why would I recognize the name?” Bucky questioned, looking the man up and down as he crossed his arms over his chest.  Bucky wasn’t deliberately trying to be intimidating.  It was his interrogation pose, the one he used when he didn’t care about the outcome of the conversation and wanted someone to know it.  Not to be confused with the easy, casual pose Bucky used when actually trying to get information out of someone while on the job.

 

“I’m Steve Rogers,” the man answered as though that was an actual answer.  He was partially hidden by the huge gift basket, but his face was earnest and honest.

 

Bucky shrugged, his mouth turning down in what Sam called his ‘confused but sarcastically unconcerned about an answer’ face.  “That means less than Captain America does.”

 

“Oh,” Steve Rogers answered, becoming flustered.  “I thought everyone from Brooklyn kept tabs on me. I guess it’s nice to know that isn’t the case.”

 

“How do you know I’m from Brooklyn?” Bucky demanded in a firm tone and narrowed eyes.  Now he was being intimidating.  It was one thing for Bucky to have taken the effort to have looked up this Captain America actor so he knew more about him, but Bucky wasn’t supposed to be easily Googleable. 

 

Rogers blinked rapidly three times and then laughed nervously, scratching at his chin with a sheepish expression on his face.  “We were in first grade together,” he answered.  “That’s how I knew who you were.”

 

Awkward.  Bucky looked closely at the man, unable to distinguish anything familiar about him.  “I don’t remember you,” he said in a blunt tone.  The first grade was way too long ago to remember.  Bucky’s head was filled with important skills and procedures to be successful at his job, he didn’t need to know who sat across from him at the lunch table back in the days when he owned a Teenage Ninja Mutant Turtles backpack.    Who the fuck remembered that kind of stuff?  Bucky was normal, that was not.

 

Bucky reached out and took the gift basket, putting it on the floor on his side of the table before Steve Rogers decided to take it back.  Steve’s smile was sheepish and self-effacing.  “I can see that,” he responded, and his fingers worked at the thick material of the denim covering his knees.  “I’m sorry I…” he trailed off, gesturing helplessly around him.  “The misunderstanding at the convention center was entirely my fault.  If you got reprimanded for… I can explain to your superiors.”

 

“There’s no need,” Bucky answered in a cool tone.  Bucky had been reprimanded, but he didn’t think it was a smart move to have Rogers apologize when Bucky’s knuckles had been rapped for not being able to distinguish when someone was overstepping their bounds.  He’d let a civilian knock out a bomber.  He’d never live that down, and he’d never live down the fact that Rogers then came to his DC office with a gift basket, either.

 

“Well,” Rogers answered him, getting to his feet.  “It was nice to see you again.  I really am sorry for everything.”

 

Bucky looked up at him and frowned, continuing to look up over a trim waist and broad shoulders he’d never taken the opportunity to observe.  If his team was going to rag on him for the Captain America situation for the next year, Bucky may as well get something out of it.  For someone to seek him out the way this Steve Rogers had, sex was probably on the table. Maybe a crush explained why Steve had been able to recognize him two decades later.  It was probably sweet, and he’d come all this way to apologize. 

 

“How about dinner,” Bucky offered.  “If you really want to make it up to me.”

 

“I can do that,” Steve answered smiling, like Bucky had just offered him the olive branch and he was happy to take it.

 

“Good,” Bucky answered, jotting down a few words on a post-it note and handing it over.  “My address.  I’ll cook.  Eight work for you?”

 

x.x.x.

 

Bucky didn’t cook.  What Bucky did well was strategically time supper late enough that it felt like an intimate date leading up to sex, even if sex wasn’t implicitly on the table.  When he invited people over for eight, he slipped the lasagna he bought pre-made from the deli two blocks over into the oven at 7:45 and poured some of the hand-made vinaigrette he bought at the same time into a bowl with a whisk in it.

 

His most difficult task was shredding a block of cheese on a plate, sprinkling it over the lasagna for a bonus cheese boost, and leaving the dirty plate to the side to make it look like he’d actually used it.  Bucky usually followed that little attention to detail up by remembering to turn the dishwasher on to cover for the fact there wasn’t much clean-up.

 

What Bucky did well was stage the idea that he was going out of his way to cook.

 

His dates loved it.

 

Or at least they always ate it up.

 

(a little food humour).

 

(maybe a little dick humour too).

 

Steve arrived shortly after eight, his hair damp from the rain outside.  He looked even better outside of Bucky’s offices, the soft lighting in Bucky’s living room a lot more forgiving.  When Bucky was seducing people he liked them to see him in his best light.  “Hi,” Steve said, charming and with a smile that looked genuine when Bucky opened the door.  His eyes traced down the line of Bucky’s body, taking in the calculated relaxed outfit of a cosy sweater, tight jeans, and bare feet.

 

The feet made the smile hover around the corners of his mouth, and Bucky felt a piece of him relax.  Sometimes, the bare feet made people frown, like he’d taken a step too far by daring to be partially disrobed in his own living room.  Those were always the ones Bucky didn’t have a successful date with, whether the measure of success was sleeping with them or not. 

 

Sometimes he hooked up with people he didn’t get along with, but he had a line.  He’d turned people out the door after feeding them before, and his start with Captain America had been rocky at best.  Bucky was definitely testing the man in small ways and Steve had already been behind before the invitation had even been issued.  So every point counted.

 

"Can I take your jacket?"  Bucky questioned, already holding a hanger in his hand.  His grandmother had once told him that you could tell the quality of a man by the quality of his leather jacket, advice his mother had let out a scandalized laugh over and swatted her mother’s arm for saying it in front of an impressionable teenage.  The memory of it arose as he handled Steve’s jacket, the soft leather warm beneath his hands and the cut of it so obviously vintage that it was impossible not to think she’d approve.

 

It was a weird thought for him to have and he shook it off with distaste.

 

“I brought you some wine.  I wasn’t sure what you were making so it’s a generic red,” Steve shrugged, completely unrepentant as he handed it over.  “I picked it up chilled at the liquor store two blocks from here.”

 

“That’s kind of you.  I’m making a lasagna.  Come in, it should be ready soon.”  Bucky subtly directed Steve to sit at the bar at the kitchen, heading to the stove to check on the lasagna that he knew was almost ready and allowing Steve his leisure to wander around to look at Bucky’s things.  Bucky’s entire condo was staged to inspire date conversation, from the books he’d read and enjoyed enough to hold a conversation about sitting on the bookshelf to the framed picture of him shaking Obama’s hand.  That one was usually the point where people made the decision to jump on his dick, whether they knew it or not.

 

He was really proud of the place, and not just for being an honorary wingman.  It was the first major purchase Bucky had ever made, even before upgrading his clunker of a car.  He’d be paying it off for the next 30 years, but he’d bought himself a home from earnings from his dream job.  It was nice when his guests took a moment to appreciate it, almost at the same level as when they took a moment to appreciate Bucky.

 

“Food will be ready in about ten minutes,” he promised, busying himself with a drying cloth to lend credence to the myth that he was good in the kitchen.

 

“It smells delicious,” Steve answered, easily sitting on the high bar stool and observing Bucky.  “I appreciate you inviting me into your home.  You’re more… you here.”

 

It was on the tip of Bucky’s tongue to tell Steve that he didn’t know anything about him when Steve laughed in a self-effacing manner and turned pink around his cheekbones.  It was a charming sight.

 

“I’m sorry,” he continued.  “I just listened to myself and regret it.  You’re relaxed here in a way that you weren’t in the office.  When you’re in the field you’re very intense, very focused, taking in a million things in your surroundings at once.  It’s… if I had time, I would have loved to have learned from you as a character study.  In the office, there was still an awareness there.  Here…?” Steve shrugged as he gestured to Bucky’s surroundings.  “Here you’re in your own terrain and you’re more,” he tilted his head to the side and observed Bucky.  Bucky let him, waiting for Steve to say something trite about him being at home or being himself.  “Sure.”

 

“Relaxed?” Bucky asked.

 

“No, not relaxed.  Not with me here, but you’re in control of your surroundings. I’m the one who doesn’t belong.”

 

Bucky considered that. "So where do you belong?" Bucky questioned, modulating his tone so it came off as smooth and flirtatious.

 

Steve shrugged.  "I don't know.  I love Brooklyn, and it feels like home, but it's not everything.  Sometimes it's not even where I'm happiest."

 

"Where are you happiest?”

 

Steve leaned his elbow against the countertop, his glass held with a casual assurance that appealed to Bucky’s need for confidence.  “It’s going to sound like a line,” Steve warned, tilting towards Bucky like he was sharing a secret.

 

“Let’s hear it,” Bucky prompted, leaning back against the counter casually and observing Steve.

 

Steve smiled, but there was nothing earnest about it.  The corner of his mouth tilted up and for a moment he looked absolutely wicked, like he was the one seducing Bucky.  “I’m probably happiest exploring the I-95 on my motorcycle.”

 

Bucky laughed.  “You’re right, that absolutely sounds like a line.  Do you like something powerful between your thighs, or…”

 

Steve’s eyes dragged down Bucky’s body, lingering on his legs.  “Oh, absolutely,” he answered, taking a sip of his wine.  “Don’t you?”

 

Flirtation that direct wasn’t something that Bucky anticipated from someone who showed up at Bucky’s workplace with an apology gift basket.

 

“I thought that was why you were here,” Bucky responded, watching carefully for a reaction.  Steve didn’t look surprised, he didn’t even look like it was something new he was considering.

 

“It could be.” 

 

It was said simply, with no ‘if you play your cards right’ implications.  Steve wasn’t being coy, he was stating that sex could be on the table.  Bucky turned to take the lasagna out of the oven, setting it to cool on the counter.  He turned and smiled at Steve.  “Can I offer you a dinner roll?”

 

x.x.x.

 

Conversation with Steve was –

 

It wasn’t what Bucky expected.  He was enjoying talking with Steve.  Steve had some witty and insightful things to say about Brooklyn and New York that Bucky could only get from someone who knew the area.  He made fun of a local politician Bucky had been forced to deal with a few years back, or at least Bucky assumed Steve’s frank appraisal and satirical derision was Steve’s version of making fun.  It was the kind of intellectual conversation Bucky responded well to, in any case.

 

Bucky wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but he hadn’t expected to actually like Steve.  Conversation over food was easy, and it dragged out beyond the amount of time it took to eat, both of them lingering with their bar stools angled towards each other.

 

Steve laughed, taking a sip from the wine he had brought with him.  Bucky had learned a few rules about what kind of wine went well with his lasagna, but when someone gifted him with a bottle, he wasn’t enough of a wine snob to care beyond _free wine_. 

 

Bucky took the wine glass from Steve’s hand and stepped into his space, carefully putting it down on the island beside them.  Steve looked into Bucky’s eyes, and there was a certain measure of curiosity and daring to his expression that gave Bucky the sign he wasn’t about to step out of line. He tilted his chin up so his mouth was easier for Bucky to reach.

 

“Do you expect me to kiss you?” Bucky questioned with a smirk.

 

“Well, I don’t think that you’re standing in front of me to share body heat,” Steve answered immediately, and Bucky found himself smiling despite the fact that this move usually resulted in him kissing the other person.  Steve’s hands reached up and fit against Bucky’s hips. 

 

“Say that you want me to, then,” he said, drawing his hands up to Steve’s thighs, his hands curving into the promise of movement, like he could spread Steve open the moment he had permission.  Steve looked straight at him with a frank kind of appraisal, actually considering Bucky’s question.

 

“Just one,” he answered with a decisive nod.  “I want to taste you.”

 

Fuck.

 

That was an impressive turn on, considering Steve hadn’t given Bucky what he actually wanted.  He leaned in, watching as Steve subtly tilted his head towards Bucky.  Their movements were slow, giving the illusion of a lack of haste.  For Bucky it was a patented move he used to prolong the suspense, but in that moment he could feel the anticipation and how much he wanted to close the distance between them immediately.  It took self-control not to pull Steve against him, and Bucky enjoyed the way Steve’s eyelashes fluttered closed as their mouths softly brushed against one another’s.

 

Steve moved closer, his fingers tightening against the front of Bucky’s shirt until his knees were pressed against the front of Bucky’s thighs and Bucky was leaning forward, his arms braced on the kitchen island.

 

Bucky pulled away first.

 

“Dessert?” Bucky questioned, teasingly nipping at Steve’s mouth.  “Or bed?”

 

“I should go,” Steve said with regret, sliding off the stool he was sitting on.  He seemed to have no problem being in Bucky’s space.  Bucky was confused as to why he was leaving. “Thanks for supper.”

 

“You’re welcome,” Bucky answered, stepping away.  “Are you sure I can’t tempt you?”

 

“Oh, you’re very tempting,” Steve promised.  “Too tempting, really.”

 

Bucky smiled, slow and filthy.  “But not tempting enough if you can walk away after a taste.”  He followed Steve towards the door, allowing his eyes to trail down Steve’s back and linger over his ass. 

 

Steve paused, hand on the door handle, and reeled Bucky in, kissing him again with a frantic sort of yearning that started fast and then lingered.  “We want different things from each other,” he explained.  “You want a quick fuck and I’m looking for something more permanent than that.”

 

“Are you opposed to having a little fun while looking for something more permanent?” Bucky questioned.  “I understand wanting more from life than what I’m offering, but,” he shrugged, letting the statement drop into silence, and gesturing to say ‘but we’re both here now.’

 

“With you?” Steve asked.  “Yeah, I… I know myself pretty well. I couldn’t do anything but get more attached to you.”

 

“Ok,” Bucky answered, because at least he knew where he stood, and while typically he’d respond to words like that as a dare, circumventing the other person’s wishes at the first sign of hesitancy, he also thought that Steve’s honesty deserved some in kind.  “You’re right,” he said, and it surprised himself a little when he handed Steve his jacket without aiming for physical contact.  “I’m not the person to get attached to.”

 

Steve smiled, and there was a bittersweet tinge to it that made Bucky think, for a second, that maybe there was more to the story than the two of them knowing each other in first grade.  Steve was making it pretty clear that he thought Bucky was _someone_. 

 

Bucky smiled back at the renewed conclusion that the man standing in front of him probably had a crush on him when they were kids.  That was cute and wholesome in a way Bucky had left behind him a long time ago, but somehow it fit with how the evening had gone.  “Thanks for the company,” Bucky said, and leaned forward to brush another kiss across Steve’s mouth.  There was a sense of finality in the gesture, the kiss a chaste kindness that Bucky found easy to offer.

 

Steve pulled back, his hand covering Bucky’s on the doorknob.  He exerted pressure as though to open the door.  “Fuck,” he breathed, eyes shuttering closed with a wince, and then he was kissing Bucky again, hands fisted in the front of Bucky’s shirt and pulling him closer.

 

Bucky was surprised at the intensity of it.  He didn’t know much about the Captain America television show, but what he’d picked up was that everyone thought the guy was some kind of goody-two-shoes that Bucky didn’t deserve.  Steve, with his apology gift basket and the sweet way he said he’d get attached to Bucky didn’t seem too far off the mark.

 

He kissed like he wanted to ruin Bucky, not the other way around.   Steve’s body encouraged Bucky’s to move backwards as they made out, his fingers tugging at the hem of Bucky’s shirt.  Bucky helped direct the movements by deliberately taking a step in the direction of his bedroom, deftly unbuttoning the front of Steve’s shirt.  The thrill of going from 0 to 100 hummed under his skin, making the sensation of touching Steve feel illicit.

 

Bucky pressed Steve up against the bedroom door, his fingers holding Steve’s wrist steady above his head.   “You sure?” he asked, running his hand down the length of Steve’s front, over taut smooth skin, his thumb grazing a nipple.

 

Fuck.

 

“Yeah.” Steve didn’t hesitate, his free hand groping for the doorknob.  His hand slipped against it, opening the door through luck rather than deliberation, and they both tumbled through with the loss of their support.  Bucky laughed, and Steve kissed him, a smile on his lips as they moved towards Bucky’s bed, the light from the living area and the ambient street light through the curtains giving just enough illumination for Bucky to appreciate the sight of Steve spread out over Bucky’s comforter.

 

Steve made a soft noise of surprise as Bucky opened the front of his jeans, using the extra space to reach in with his hand and get a grip on his cock.  Steve’s hips came up off the bed and Bucky enjoyed the sight of his stomach muscles in sharp relief.  He wondered what other ways he could get Steve to move that would be so aesthetically pleasing to the eye that they were also the very definition of hot.

 

Bucky jerked Steve off until he was fully hard in his hand and reaching towards Bucky to return the favor, running his hands over Bucky’s skin when Bucky refused to move to accommodate him.  Finally, Steve grabbed his wrist and pulled, forcing Bucky to fall on the bed next to him.  He rolled so that they were kissing as Steve unfastened Bucky’s pants, intent on returning the favor.

 

“Would go smoother with lube,” Steve observed, mumbling against Bucky’s collarbone.

 

“Some in the drawer,” Bucky responded, pleased when Steve took the initiative to pull away for a second to rummage through the nightstand for the bottle.  Bucky didn’t own top-shelf lube, but the stuff he had wasn’t bad.  He didn’t know what movie stars were used to, but Steve didn’t even look at the label before smearing some on his fingers and tossing it on the bed.  His hand glided smoothly when he put it back on Bucky’s dick.

 

Bucky, personally, could have done with a tad more friction, but the way Steve’s grip tightened, testing, around his cock more than made up for it.

 

“You’ve got one night, what’s your preference?” Steve questioned.  “How are you going to rock my world?”

 

“I do have some skills,” he said.  Bucky was being modest.  “But if it’s only one night then it isn’t about what I want.  What do you want?”

 

“I’d really like you to fuck me,” Steve stated simply.  “I’m versatile in bed, but if it comes down to what I want right now, from you, that’s it.”

 

After having supper with Steve and getting to know him a bit better as a person, Bucky wasn’t surprised to hear that Steve switched, but there was still a leftover impression from New York that made him surprised that Steve’s choice was to have Bucky’s cock in him.  It made him smile.  He should have known the moment Steve admitted to liking something powerful between his thighs that this was how it was going to happen. “Show me.”

 

Steve’s eyebrows raised, but he grabbed the lube from where it had fallen and slicked up his fingers.  He gave Bucky this look like he was being challenged and he was about to rock his world, teasing his entrance with a few strokes to get himself wet before slowly fingering himself.  Bucky knelt on the bed beside him, kissing his knee as he watched.

 

Steve’s concentration eventually moved from himself to Bucky, watching Bucky with eyes that looked too clear for how his body was flushed with arousal, erection almost painful with it.  “Are you calculating the angles based on what I enjoy doing to myself?  Is that your trick?”

 

Bucky hummed, moving in so he could add one of his fingers to the three Steve was using.  He didn’t confirm Steve’s suspicions, but it was definitely jarring to hear his strategy observed out loud.  He encouraged Steve to remove his hand and replaced it with his own.  Rogers’ body was a piece of art, and Bucky appreciated people who put just as much effort into their appearance as he did.

 

Steve inhaled sharply when Bucky replicated the move he’d seemed to enjoy the most on himself, adding a twist to it that he’d never be able to reach with his own fingers.  “Christ,” he said.  “Fuck.  I enjoy your tricks.”

 

“Soon you’ll have my moves all figured out,” Bucky responded, but there was no way that was true.  Steve wouldn’t have the chance to see even a tenth of what Bucky could do to him.  He could scrutinize Bucky’s moves tonight for as long as he wanted with his clear analytical mind, but that wouldn’t mean that Steve would _know him_. 

 

“Mmm,” Steve hummed in response, but he didn’t have anything pithy to say, so Bucky took that as a success. 

 

“Ready?” he questioned, kneeling so he could reach a condom.  Steve was splayed out in front of him, mouth opened as he breathed.  His flushed skin was slick with sweat and he looked ready to shake apart at any moment.

 

He was so goddamn attractive getting to this point was worth all the annoyances he caused in Bucky’s life.  Bucky congratulated himself for thinking of inviting Steve over for sex in the first place, and gave a bit of that mental praise to Steve for going after what he wanted with a gift basket of coffee. 

 

“Yeah,” Steve answered, reaching out to run his hands over Bucky’s shoulders and down to his chest.  “Like this.”  The spread of his legs was almost obscene, and Bucky added flexibility to the list of bonuses to fucking Steve Rogers.  He obliged Steve, both of them shifting around each other as Bucky lined himself up.

 

Steve made a satisfied noise when Bucky slid in fully, his hands braced around Steve’s hips to hold him at the angle he’d learned would have the most impact.  The sound was exactly what he was looking for, pride in his abilities always giving Bucky more pleasure.  Steve moved with him like he was the one setting the pace, and Bucky let him.  He also liked it when people knew what they wanted and didn’t expect him to do all the work. 

 

“That’s good,” Bucky said into Steve’s ear.  “You’re going to come first, aren’t you?”

 

Steve looked at him like that was a challenge, licking his lips and reaching up so he could flatten his hands against Bucky’s headboard.  His body arched in a bow as he braced himself so that he didn’t move each time Bucky thrust into him. 

 

Then Steve did this thing with his hips that had Bucky’s pace faltering.    He seemed to deliberately clench around Bucky’s dick, smirking like he knew exactly how it felt.  “I wouldn’t be so sure,” Steve responded, tightening his thighs around Bucky’s back, giving a hint at strength that could easily flip Bucky over if Steve wanted.  There was a thrill to it that intrigued him. 

 

Bucky wasn’t going to let Steve win, he decided, reaching for Steve’s dick and stroking in long, tight strokes with each thrust of his hips, aiming for the spot Steve showed him with his fingers.

 

“Oh fuck,” Steve breathed, eyelashes fluttering and neck a long, tense line as he came.

 

Triumph was enough to have Bucky careening over the edge a few moments later.

 

x.x.x.

 

Bucky checked the time on his phone.  Steve wasn’t exactly a cuddler, he kept mostly to himself with one arm draped over Bucky’s chest and his face tilted away so he wasn’t breathing in Bucky’s air space, but it still felt like an invasion to have someone in his bed.  Bucky usually considered that to be part of the deal of inviting someone over for the night, but Steve had been so honest about his ability to become attached that every second he spent touching Bucky now that there wasn’t any pleasure in it was making his stomach churn.  There was still an hour before Steve would have to leave for even the earliest train that travelled from DC to NYC, and Bucky wasn’t so much of an asshole that he’d kick Steve out of his condo so he’d have to go wait at the station for that hour.

 

It was tempting, though.

 

There were other temptations he could give into.  Steve’s broad shoulders gave way to a great view of his ass if Bucky sat up enough to look, and he reached out to touch all that golden skin, sliding his hand down the cool expanse of Steve’s exposed back.  Steve groaned and turned his head towards Bucky, blinking at him in the light of the cell phone.

 

For someone who claimed to know him, it took Steve a moment for the confusion in his expression to clear.  “Hey,” he said finally, clearing his throat and angling Bucky’s hand so he could see the time.  “Time for me to go?”

 

So Steve did understand him.

 

Bucky handed him a bottle of water out of sympathy. Bucky hadn’t just set out to have good sex, he’d set out to destroy Steve. Then Steve had turned out to be competitive, so it was no wonder that he sounded parched even though Bucky’s dick hadn’t gotten anywhere near his throat.  “Thanks,” Steve answered, drinking half of it in one go.  He didn’t question why Bucky kept unopened bottles of water beside his nightstand, which Bucky appreciated. 

 

“If you want,” Bucky answered, unconcerned.  “I can think of something else we can do to pass some time.”

 

“Can you?” Steve questioned in an amused and seductive tone as he leaned towards Bucky, crossing to his side of the bed.  The kiss wasn’t a quick one, it was the type of kiss someone who had just gotten fucked and wanted to do it again gave a lover, lingering and filthy. “And what exactly would that entail?”

 

Bucky was entirely on board.  “Lube, and maybe some athleticism.”

 

“It’s three in the morning.  I’ll take the lube but let’s skip on the athleticism.”

 

“Why Steve,” Bucky answered in a teasing tone.  “Looking at you I didn’t think you’d skipped out on a little work out a day in your life.  Not up for the challenge?”

 

“Certain parts of me are up for it.  How about I just shove some pillows under my hips and you can be as athletic as you want?”

 

Bucky didn’t know Steve well, and likely never would, but there was something about the expression on his face, despite appearing like he meant every word, that told Bucky that he was joking.  “What if I wanted you to do all the work?” he questioned.

 

“Well then,” Steve answered with a grin as he moved with ease to settle into a sitting position across Bucky’s thighs.  “Place your order: top or bottom?”

 

x.x.x.

 

Bucky woke up from a deep sleep to the sun shining in through the blinds over his window.  He kept them open a crack so that he'd be woken by natural light before 8 in the morning, and most mornings he had enough self-discipline to wake up on his own far before then.  It wasn't any different on days where he was waking up with someone next to him, warm and smelling like sweat and sex.  Steve grumbled at Bucky throwing aside the blankets, but he did wake up without prompting, sitting up as Bucky put his boxers back on.  His hair was spiked from Bucky’s fingers, and it made him smile thinking of how exactly that had happened.

 

It gave Bucky an immeasurable sense of pride to have ruffled someone who looked like they stepped off the pages of GQ Magazine.

 

"I slept longer than I meant to," Steve observed, checking the time on his phone and picking up his jeans from the floor.  "Can I use your shower?"

 

"I keep a guest bag beneath the sink.  It should have everything you need in there.”  Bucky watched as Steve collected his clothing from the floor and headed for the bathroom.  Coffee was a thing he needed desperately because even as soundly as he’d slept, he’d still been kept awake for a good portion of the evening. 

 

Worth it, he decided, watching Steve’s bare ass before heading towards his kitchen.

 

“There’s coffee,” Bucky said, gesturing towards the counter once Steve emerged from the shower.  Steve nodded at him, his hair damp and no longer looking like Bucky had held on to tuffs of it so the sweat dried into the shape his fingers had made.  Usually, showering off the traces of sex would have made Bucky feel less like he wanted to ply Steve with coffee and see if he could fit a quickie into his morning and more like he had a stranger in his home that he should be shooing out the door at any moment. But Steve’s hair was spiky and he looked like a 90s boy band reject, so it just made Bucky smile instead.

 

He couldn’t really kick out someone who looked so much like a doofus.

 

“You’re out of mugs,” Steve observed, staring into the cupboard Bucky had gestured towards.

 

“Oh yeah, they’re probably all in the dishwasher,” Bucky said in an offhanded tone as he grabbed a box of cereal off the shelf.  “Do you want raisin bran or this high protein stuff?”

 

“High protein,” Steve picked, opening the dishwasher door to retrieve a clean mug.  He frowned and pulled out the mug rack, looking at how it was almost completely full.  The bigger compartment for plates and larger items was almost completely empty.

 

Whoops.  Bucky probably should have made sure Steve didn’t look in the dishwasher if he was going to play the ‘I made this food by hand just for you because I think we might have gotten off on the wrong foot’ card.  The last time this happened, the person hadn’t even noticed.

 

Steve noticed.

 

Steve understood exactly what he was looking at.  Bucky could see it in the way the relaxed post-sex euphoria leeched from his body.  He looked in the dishwasher and then back at Bucky, eyes narrowing as he held Bucky’s gaze for longer than a few seconds. He turned and looked in the fridge, pulling out the bottle of salad dressing Bucky had staged as homemade.  His brow furrowed as he looked at it and then put it back on the shelf.

 

Bucky braced himself for the wounded-puppy routine.  He fully expected to be accused of Seducing Steve, as if Steve hadn’t been the one to make the decision to fall into Bucky’s bed.  Steve stood there for a moment observing Bucky watch him. The insolent curve to Bucky’s lips as he nonchalantly brought his coffee to his mouth probably wouldn’t help if Steve was considering taking a swing at him.

 

Finally, Steve turned and took Bucky’s grocery list off the fridge, writing something down on it.  “Thanks for the sex,” he said, pushing the sheet into Bucky’s hands.  “You’ve really got it down to an art, so here’s my number.  Feel free to contact me the next time you’re in New York and feeling horny.  Oh, and don’t worry,” he said, and the smile on his face was sharp.  “I understand exactly what’s between us. I was wrong to think you’re the type of person I could get attached to, but you’re a great fuck,” he finished, giving Bucky a perfunctory kiss and grabbing his jacket from the hook by the door.  “So let’s do it again.”

 

Bucky watched his closed front door in surprise.

 

x.x.x.

 

Bucky stared at his phone for about an hour before he finally decided to pick it up.  It wasn’t that he felt guilty about using some of his normal tricks on Steve, or even that he felt guilty about the fact that he’d taken Steve to bed.  Steve was an adult, and he’d been sober at the time and could make his own poor decisions.  That wasn’t on Bucky.

 

Bucky wasn’t a complete jackass, though, so he did feel some measure of discomfort over the fact he seemed to have gotten exactly what he wanted from Steve Rogers, but for some reason it wasn’t sitting as well as he wanted it to.  He felt like it might be because Steve seemed to have a high opinion of him, and in order to get to the point where he saw Bucky as a good time in bed he had to actually lower his regard. 

 

 _I’m sorry I’m not the person you thought I was_ , Bucky texted Steve, because he was.  He was sorry he couldn’t be that person – surprisingly.  He liked the idea that someone thought he was good.  He liked it a little more than he liked the idea that Steve thought he was good enough in bed to invite him to come again.

 

Literally.

 

**New text from unknown number:**

_It was my fault for assuming I knew you based on a two-decade old memory. I don’t think you’re evil, you’re just not the person for me._

 

Bucky wasn’t sure if that was reassuring or not.  He spent a lot of time staring at the message before sending back a simple _no I’m not._


	3. The one where Bucky is in NYC breaking hearts (and furniture)

_I’m back in NYC if you want to hook up_ , Bucky texted Steve at 9 am on a Sunday morning.  This time he was in town on a social call, Becca guilting him into coming to visit the family after he hadn’t shown up for the holidays. It had been a drug trafficking ring this time, but Bucky’s standard answer was ‘terrorists’. Yippee ki-yay, motherfucker (which was a reference he actually got). Bucky had gotten in on Friday evening to a little decorated tree on the kitchen counter and his mother baking holiday cookies, despite the fact it was mid-January.

 

It was a decent enough visit with the Barnes, but there was only so much time he could spend in his childhood bedroom before he started to feel like he was going nuts, so he packed up early, told his parents he was called back to work, kissed his mother’s cheek under his sister’s suspicious eye, and went out for a booty call.  Steve had texted Bucky back his address without commentary about how neither of them really expected that Bucky would take Steve up on his offer.

 

Bucky wasn’t sure why it had been in the back of his head as an exit plan all weekend, but Steve had been a great lay and had offered to fuck again without entanglements.  That was Bucky’s idea of fun.  It was probably because Brooklyn seemed to have a sense of pride about that show Steve starred in, posters about it everywhere so that it was difficult to be back in the city without seeing Steve’s face.  It was no wonder even his supervisor had laughed at him when he ended up having no idea who Captain America was.

 

Steve’s place was surprisingly close to Bucky’s family home for someone who had his face on two of the billboards Bucky saw on his cab ride from the airport.  Either Steve was trying really hard to reclaim some measure of his roots, or he was firmly grounded in this community.  Bucky suspected it was more of the former.

 

“Hey,” Steve said when he opened the door to Bucky and his luggage.  He raised an eyebrow but didn’t lend any commentary, so Bucky took a step forward until both of them were hidden from sight of the street and kissed him.

 

“Hey,” he said in return, stripping off his winter jacket and placing it on a hook in the front entrance, next to Steve’s nice leather jacket.  “Where’s your bedroom?”

 

“Upstairs,” Steve answered, nodding towards the staircase on Bucky’s left.  “Do you want anything before we go up?  Water?”

 

“Do you have lube and condoms?” Bucky questioned.

 

“Straight to the point,” Steve assessed him carefully.  “Yeah, in my bedroom.”

 

“Good.  I do have some in my carry-on if you couldn’t supply them.  I’ll take some water, though, for after.”

 

“Couldn’t supply them,” Steve grumbled, leading the way to the kitchen.  “I’m a grown-ass adult who enjoys sex.”

 

It made Bucky want to smile.  “I am intimately aware of that,” Bucky reminded him, watching as Steve opened the fridge to retrieve a bottle of water.  “Oh, chilled and everything.  You know how to treat your fuckbuddies right.”

 

“You don’t have the monopoly on preparedness,” Steve answered, handing Bucky his drink.  “I’ve got moves.”

 

Bucky grinned.  “I know you do.  I wouldn’t bother being here if you didn’t,” he assured Steve, sliding his hand around Steve’s hip so he could squeeze his ass.  “I’ve enjoyed your moves immensely.”

 

Bucky knew that Steve wasn’t timid about sex and getting what he wanted, but there was an expression on his face like he wanted to pull away from Bucky.  Steve was running his hand up Bucky’s side, so Bucky didn’t think it was his touch that was doing it, which meant that Steve was second-guessing Bucky himself.  “You said,” Bucky tried, wording everything very carefully as he stepped away from Steve and placed his hands on Steve’s shoulders, “that the sex was great.”

 

He started with the one positive thing that Steve had said to him that morning in Bucky's kitchen on purpose as his fingers stroked the back of Steve’s neck, over the ridge of his spine.  Bucky was good at maintaining eye contact while seducing someone, and the moment Steve nodded in agreement with him, Bucky licked his lips while swaying slightly closer.  Steve followed the movement with his eyes, his mouth parting in response, and Bucky took that as a more encouraging sign than the head nod.

 

“Great enough to put up with my shitty personality – or to paraphrase, you also said I was too much of an asshole for you to become emotionally attached to.  Do you think that’s going to change if we continue today?”

 

“No,” Steve answered without hesitation.  “That won’t change.  You’re still an asshole.”  Then he kissed Bucky. 

 

Bucky counted it as a win. 

 

Steve got to his knees in front of Bucky, pulling apart the buckle on his belt and leaving it open as his mouth pressed against the bulge behind the zipper of Bucky’s pants.  Bucky couldn’t help but grin down at him, not surprised that Steve was taking the initiative now that he was on board.  Bucky’s fingers tightened in the thick material of the soft sweater Steve was wearing as Steve pushed up Bucky’s shirt and kissed the skin right below his belly button.

 

“What do you want this time?” Bucky questioned.  “I bet your big cock would feel good fucking me.  Do you want that?  Here in the kitchen?  In your living room?  I saw a table in the hallway that looked promising, we don’t even have to make it upstairs.  Tell me what sounds appealing.”

 

Steve sat back on his heels and looked up at Bucky.  He seemed to be considering something carefully, looking at Bucky’s thighs like he was passing judgment.  Then he got to his feet and walked away, stripping off his sweater as he went.

 

Bucky followed.  He couldn’t help it.  If his dick didn’t pull him in, his curiosity would have.

 

“Get your supplies from your suitcase,” Steve decided.  “I need you to fuck me and I want it to be right here.”

 

Steve was a sight, hands braced on his hallway table and his legs spread for Bucky.  His back was a masterpiece of muscles, perfectly honed like the rest of him to reflect the breadth of his shoulders and the trimness of his waist.  Bucky hadn’t really gotten the chance to see it all in natural light the last time they’d fucked, but the early-morning light did fantastic things for Steve.

 

Bucky took his time touching Steve, knowing how impatient he’d get at the soft touches when he wasn’t able to look Bucky in the eye and egg him on.  Steve had the kind of body most men wore clothing cut to fake, and it was a disarmingly sexy sight to watch him shift impatiently as Bucky’s right hand caressed soothing strokes over his skin.  His left hand was teasing Steve, rubbing well-lubricated circles around his hole, barely pressing into the resistance of the sphincter muscle.

 

“Well I’ve seen your cock or else I’d be worried about the size of what you’re trying to prepare me for,” Steve said, reminding Bucky about the mouth on him.  What a jerk.  It was the best part.

 

“Shut up, Steve.  You’re not going to badger me into going at your speed.”  Maybe he had been a bit distracted watching Steve instead of prepping him.  Bucky didn’t usually get distracted, but he did enjoy having sex with people he considered beautiful, so it happened occasionally.  And Steve was beautiful.  “You’re beautiful, you know,” he said out loud.

 

Steve’s skin pinked at the compliment.  Bucky could see the top of the cheekbone Steve had tilted towards him flush, and so did the back of his neck.

 

Bucky’s smile widened.

 

“You like that?” Bucky asked, pressing a kiss against that spot.  He started moving his hands again, testing with two fingers before getting more lube. “I like looking at you.  Just wait until I get my dick in you.  I’m going to enjoy watching you take it, your mouth lax and open and your entire body moving to get more.  All your pretty, pretty muscles on display.  Maybe I’ll just stand still and make you work for it.  Would you like that?”

 

“Christ.” Steve shuddered against him.  “Fuck.”

 

“I want you to ride me sometime,” Bucky told him, now up to three fingers.  The way he was twisting them had Steve clenching around him, his eyelashes fluttering and his elbows slipping down the table so he was leaning more against it than he was his own arms.  It put his ass completely on display for Bucky and he wanted to bend down to take a bite.  Instead he ripped open the condom packaging and put it on, running the head of his cock up and down over Steve’s hole.  “If you want it you’re going to have to turn around.  I want to see your face.”

 

Steve stumbled a little as he tripped over his jeans while trying to turn.   “I’ll install a mirror,” he muttered.

 

“Over all your furniture?” Bucky questioned with a laugh, his hand bracing Steve’s elbow.  He’d been there, wet and open and legs shaking with arousal instead of listening to what he wanted them to do.  He kissed Steve while directing him into bracing himself against the table.

 

“ _Yes_ ,” Steve answered in an emphatic tone.

 

x.x.x.

 

They didn't make it upstairs, which wasn’t necessarily a surprise but Bucky was learning facets of what Steve liked that he wouldn’t have guessed based on the first time.  For instance: he thought Steve was the type to expect a bed. 

 

Steve was naughtier than he expected.

 

He liked furniture sex.  Furniture sex so intense that the hallway console table had a broken leg and was lying haphazardly on its side. Bucky couldn't help but snicker when he lifted his head and saw it, intent on wriggling back into his pants.  Steve swatted his shoulder in response.  "Stop laughing.  It's an antique."

 

 _It’s an antique_ , Bucky echoed in his head, snickering.  "No wonder it collapsed under your weight," Bucky answered with a grin, leaning in to press a kiss against Steve's shoulder.  "Or maybe it's your bulk of muscles.  There's no hope for furniture sex in your future.  You’re going to have to pick something reinforced next time."

 

Steve made a face at him as Bucky rolled to his feet, using the stairs as leverage.  There was probably a straight-line bruise indented across his shoulders, and he’d definitely banged his elbow somewhere.  Bucky’s physical well-being seemed to be in less danger at work than it was fucking Steve.

 

"It's an antique," Bucky repeated, and then danced away laughing as Steve tried to kick at him, only to realize the pant leg that had made it completely off was wrapped around the bannister, restricting his movement.  He looked like he was hanging off the stairs by it, and Bucky grinned again at the sight.

 

"Fuck," Steve muttered.

 

"Steve, geez. I thought you were supposed to be a pillar of the community.  A real stand-up guy.  Swearing, breaking furniture" he shook his head, still grinning at the picture Steve presented, mostly-naked and leaning back against the stairs with his dick out.  "A good Brooklyn boy."

 

"I'm a very good Brooklyn boy," Steve returned.  "I'm following your legacy."

 

"We're the same age, you asshole," Bucky pointed out, reclaiming his shirt from the door handle leading into the living room.  "It can't be a legacy if we're doing it at the same time."

 

Steve seemed to think that was hilarious, punch-drunk off sex and happy.  It was a shame that they'd spent most of the last time they were together sleeping, because Steve in a post-orgasm euphoria was an amusing sight.  "Your legend, then," Steve continued.  "The owner of the bodega down the street still has a picture of your face with a big x through it on the wall behind the cash.  Everyone knows you slept your way through his four kids."

 

"Those kids were all my age or older," Bucky muttered.  "You're making me sound like a real unsavoury type person, Steve."

 

"The mythic Bucky Barnes," Steve decided, kicking off the last leg of his pants and walking completely naked into his living room before flopping down on the couch.  Bucky followed him as he moved, curious about where Steve was going.  "Everyone knows you here."

 

"That's a good enough reason to stay away," Bucky griped, sitting beside Steve.  He was ready to walk out the door, but the atmosphere had changed from post-euphoric to friendly ribbing, and there was a sensation of comfort to it that didn’t make him want to flee.  Bucky was not a cuddler, but he would definitely pause for snark.  "Do you know that sometimes people recognise me on the street and come up to me looking to fuck?  It’s like… I have a reputation for being _that guy_ , so _of course_ I always want sex,” Bucky said with heavy sarcasm, rolling his eyes. “That wouldn’t be acceptable even if I had spent time as porn star, but I wasn’t, I was a teenage boy!"

 

"No, it wouldn’t be," Steve mused.  "But you were rumoured to be very good, patient and attentive.  My cousin wanted to introduce us one summer back then.  She thought I should lose my virginity to someone who knew what they were doing.  I thought I should lose my virginity to someone who cared about me."

 

"Of course you shoulda," Bucky responded, leaning backwards across the arm of the couch so his toes were tucked against Steve’s thigh.  "I didn't actively go seeking out people who hadn't had sex before.  They just sorta... started to come to me about it.  Oh God," he said with a laugh, putting his arm over his face so it covered his eyes.  "If I'd known that the reputation would follow me a decade later I would have kept my attentions to Queens."

 

Steve snorted in response to that.  "So is that your only reason for staying away? People on the street wanting sex?"

 

"Nah," Bucky answered, "but that's a long and boring story.  Where's my water bottle."

 

"You kicked it out of the way when the table collapsed."

 

"Well we didn't need to land on it," Bucky pointed out.  "There can only be so much comedy of errors in a situation before it gets ridiculous.  And your ass in the air as you tried to catch your balance was already ridiculous enough."

 

"Your ass is ridiculous," Steve muttered, batting Bucky with a pillow.

 

“Hey!” Bucky answered with mock affront.  “My ass is normal.  What about yours?  If I knew I was in for unattainable perfection, I would have tried sleeping with actors a long time ago.”

 

Steve made a face at him.  “It seems like an oversight on your part to overlook an entire part of the demographic.  That’s pretty lax of you.”

 

“Yeah, you definitely crossed out a missing square on my profession bingo card,” Bucky responded, and felt himself relax even more.  This was a good idea.  He’d been hoping to let off steam after putting up with his family for a day and a half and the sex had helped, but Steve being a snarky asshole helped more.

 

"When's your flight?"

 

“A little after 3.”

 

Steve tilted his head towards Bucky and grinned.  “Then give me 20 minutes and we can do that again, only in reverse.”

 

“I knew I came here for a reason.  What other pieces of furniture do you want destroyed?”

 

“I never liked this coffee table,” Steve mused.


	4. The one in LA where Bucky cracks his ribs and grants access to his heart

_Do you know where the best place to have a celebrity encounter is in LA?_ Bucky texted Steve after he stepped out of the shower.  There was a bruise on his shoulder that was starting to throb from the fight he’d been in, and he was sure at least two of his ribs were cracked.  He’d claim that he’d gotten lucky to be alive, but the phrase always grated on him.  The amount of skill, hard-earned through hours of practice a week as well as years of experience that went into his continued survival had nothing to do with luck.

 

But, some things skill couldn’t account for, and Bucky considered himself fortunate to be alive.

 

**New text from Steve:**

_You’re in LA?_

 

 **Bucky:** _The team wants to go out for supper and they’re looking to ZYGAT and the internet for the best location to meet Matt Damon_.

 

**New text from Steve:**

_I don’t know if Matt Damon is in town._

 

**New text from Steve:**

_Try this place._

 

Bucky sent back a quick thanks as he pulled on a t-shirt.  His ribs were screaming in response to the movement, and he winced and inhaled through his mouth as he bent to his luggage to retrieve a clean pair of pants.  He was tempted to just forward on the address Steve had sent him to Sam and beg off the evening out for an early bedtime, but he knew that the moment he suggested staying in Sam would become suspicious and insist Bucky follow up on the x-ray the paramedics had suggested he get.

 

And then the team would all decide they’d rather all of them go gawk at George Clooney or none of them go, and Bucky would have to put up with all of them sitting in his hotel room watching him wince as he shifted in bed.

 

Mother hens, the lot of them.

 

So he put on the best outfit he brought with him and a smile, expertly applying concealer to the bruise on his neck and the exhausted circles beneath his eyes.  The guys ribbed him about his vanity, and then one by one came to him for help hiding their own bruises.  Bucky actually had to tell grown men that one shade of concealer did not fit all.

 

The food at the place Steve recommended was good.  It wasn’t anything like the excellent fare he could get in Brooklyn, or the place a few blocks from his condo that made his preferred lasagna, but it was good.  He didn’t spot anyone famous, but then that wasn’t his thing.  It really wasn’t.  That had been established pretty well with Steve.  But the team was talking in hushed whispers about someone sitting at the table in the corner, so Bucky assumed that Steve’s advice was good advice.

 

He just hoped he wasn’t going to have to step in when a bunch of starstruck idiots walked up to a starlet and embarrassed her.

 

(and by that he meant his starstruck idiots).

 

“Special Agent Barnes,” an amused voice said to Bucky’s left.  “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

 

Bucky didn’t know what it was about Steve’s voice that made it so recognizable.  Was it because Bucky had spent an amount of time talking with Steve?  Or was it because Steve had a voice that stood out in a room?  Bucky shifted around in his seat to look at him, taking in the curve of amusement on his lips and the mischief of his eyes.  “Captain America,” he responded in a cool tone.  “Or is it Steve Rogers this time?  You seem to get around.”

 

“We’re in LA,” Steve pointed out, gesturing at the restaurant around him.  “I’m an actor.  This is my turf.  You’re the one who seems to get around.”

 

At least three members of the team snorted like that was the funniest thing they’d heard all day.

 

Bucky narrowed his eyes at Steve.  Game on.  “Whether I get around or not is not something you’ll ever have to be concerned about.  My dick is getting no where near you, not after the stunt you pulled almost got me suspended.”

 

“Ooooooh,” Sam muttered on his left.

 

“I didn’t mention anything about your dick.  You’re the one who seems to have it on your mind.”  Steve’s expression was far too innocent and it made Bucky want to stomp on his foot.  He was feeling an actual sense of antagonism towards Steve.  “And I did apologize for that.  Do you not have the social grace to accept an apology?”

 

The asshole! Bucky wasn’t sure why that was a surprise.

 

Steve was definitely an asshole, was what he was.  His team was watching their interaction with the kind of curiosity of a spectator sport where the end result was drawing blood.

 

And Bucky had a fork clenched in his hand.

 

Bucky could think of better things to do than stabbing Steve.  His blood was already up from the clusterfuck of an assignment he’d just gotten out of, and he couldn’t think of a better way to decompress than fucking that smirk right off Steve’s self-satisfied face.   Steve’s mouth open as Bucky’s hands held his head steady. 

 

“Maybe,” Bucky drawled with contempt that was only partially faked, “I should come to your set and take over, and then not correct your cast mates when they assume I’m someone they should be taking direction from.  See how you like it.”

 

“Forgive Barnes,” Sam said, placing his arm around Bucky’s shoulder.  “His ears are still ringing from the dressing down he received for New York.  The rest of us, on the other hand, think it’s hilarious.  I don't think I've ever seen Bucky make a mistake before.”

 

His team, traitors that they were, nodded in agreement.   Bucky was just regaining most of the trust he'd lost from that, and now he'd be held back by his ribs if they turned out to be anything other than mildly bruised.

 

Steve had stopped looking so smug, biting his lip in the same way he had while he was apologizing to Bucky the first time.  “I am sorry about that, Agent Barnes.  I didn’t realize you didn’t recognize me from first grade or at least from television.”

 

“First grade?” someone muttered.  It was probably Clint, his sniper attention narrowing in on the one salient point of information for him to notice.

 

“Why don’t you join us,” Sam offered, the only one of them with even a modicum of politeness.

 

“Only for a few moments,” Steve agreed, sliding into an empty chair.  “I’m waiting for my takeout to be finished.  They’ll message me when it’s ready.”

 

This was getting far too personal for the quick fuck Bucky wanted.  He didn’t want Steve to have a conversation with his teammates.  He wanted to drag Steve outside, find an alley, and maybe get a blowjob.  Then Steve wouldn’t even have to look at the bruising showing up on Bucky’s skin.  His dick was unscathed.  And Steve was proving that he had a fucking mouth on him.

 

“Bucky wouldn’t remember his own mother if she didn’t regularly text him pictures of homemade cookies.”

 

“If she sends care packages of the actual cookies he never shares them.  We think she just wants to lure him home once in a while,” TK brought up.

 

In reality, if his mother every sent him cookies, Bucky would _not_ share them with that jack-off.

 

“Bucky never goes home?” Steve questioned, even though he clearly knew the answer.

 

“We have three weeks of mandatory vacation time,” Sam offered.  “As far as any of us can tell, Bucky books them off to go do elite training exercises.  For fun.  Keep in mind that we do those constantly as part of our job.”

 

“Well they hold more appeal than heading down to Florida or out to Vegas.  We end up in Florida for work all the time, anyway, and I find the idea that I’m supposed to go spend a week three times a year sleeping in my childhood bedroom to be incredibly restricting.”

 

Steve looked at Bucky, shifting his attention for a moment.  “When I’m not filming for Captain America, I’m doing promotion for it, or I’m reading scripts for other roles.  Last year I filmed a movie between seasons.  And when I’m not doing all that, I’m going to acting classes or researching a character.  It doesn’t seem strange to me that Bucky would rather become better at what he does than go back to Brooklyn or sit on a beach somewhere.”

 

Bucky hadn’t really been mad at Steve so much as there was a tornado cloud of a bad mood hanging over his head, but he felt grateful that Steve defended Bucky’s strange habits.  He knew he should probably be more interested in taking downtime, but he wasn’t.  He wasn’t sure Steve’s comparison to his own job was an actual comparison, but he appreciated the effort.  The thought behind it.  Whatever.  It did a lot to unspiral his ire towards Steve.

 

“My food’s ready,” Steve said, checking his phone.  He tapped the corner against the table once, before standing and leaning across to shake the hands of each member of Bucky’s team, calling them by name with a far higher level of politeness than he’d shown Bucky.  He could tell from the way that the other agents were staring at him that they were all charmed by Steve.  “It was great to meet all of you.  I certainly feel safer knowing that you’re the ones called in during situations like the one I was in the other month.”

 

“Just leave it to the trained personnel next time,” Sam suggested, his mouth turned up in a friendly smile.

 

Steve laughed and brought his hand up to rub the back of his head.  “Of course, Agent Wilson.”

 

Somehow, Steve made the word Agent sound like a flirtation.  Bucky narrowed his eyes at him, but he only nodded at Bucky and left.  

 

“I’ve never seen Bucky hate someone so intensely,” Clint said.

 

“You weren’t in Ocean City for the Seaside Rapist case,” Sam pointed out.  “Though now that I say that out loud, there’s a very marked difference between Steve Rogers and an FBI Agent who turned out to be the un-sub.”

 

“Is there?” Bucky questioned.  “We don’t know what he does in his spare time.”  Even to his own ears it sounded petty.  He was feeling itchy under his skin, half aroused from Steve being an asshole to him and his thoughts about following through on a dirty hate-fuck in the parking lot.  “I gotta piss,” he muttered, getting to his feet and turning the corner in the dining area.  He knew that he’d read the situation right when Steve met his eyes from the cash register and tilted his chin towards the washroom.  The dumbass was actually paying for take-out.  Who the fuck played through a booty call by actually getting food?

 

Steve Rogers, apparently.

 

And probably hungry people?

 

“Well,” he said when Steve walked through the washroom door a minute after him, turning and locking the door behind him.  Bucky had a second to wonder if he’d suggested this restaurant because he knew about that handy little feature.  He gestured towards the food in Steve’s hand. “Really shows me where I rank in the scheme of things.”

 

“Shut up,” Steve said succinctly, kissing Bucky and crowding him backwards, following through with all the banter and antagonism by handling Bucky roughly.  He’d definitely wanted a quick fuck, but being pushed against solid objects with cracked ribs was an outcome Bucky should have foreseen from the way he’d deliberately riled Steve up.

 

But hadn’t.

 

That one was definitely Bucky’s fault.

 

Bucky hissed in pain as his back collided with the bathroom stall door.  He took a jagged breath in, eyes closed as he took a second to control his reaction.  “It’s ok,” he murmured into Steve’s ear, reaching for his pants.  “It’s just some bruising.  Minor inconvenience.”  He hoped Steve took the broken sentences to mean Bucky was impatient to get back to the hate sex they were about to have, even though his erection had flagged as pain radiated across his core. 

 

No such luck.  Steve seemed to understand that Bucky wasn’t speaking in full sentences because Bucky couldn’t breathe.

 

It was possible his cracked ribs were more than cracked now, but it would be worth it if Steve just got back to the sex part of their irregularly scheduled programming.

 

Probably.

 

Maybe.

 

Not.

 

Instead Steve was insistently tugging up his shirt until he’d exposed Bucky’s torso, the molting of bruising finally showing up on his skin.  His hand smoothed along the outside of the bruise as he looked down at Bucky with empathy in his gaze.  “Oh Bucky,” he said, thumb dipping into Bucky’s navel as his hand continued to trail across the sensitive skin, curving around Bucky’s back to steady him, like Bucky was an invalid who couldn’t stand on his own. 

 

Which wasn’t necessarily true, but it wasn’t false either.  He’d never admit to being grateful that most of his weight was resting where he was straddling Steve’s thigh.  Hitting the metal stall had hurt him harder than he would like to admit. 

 

“I’m fine,” Bucky told him. It sounded petulant and grumpy even to his own ears.  “I want you to fuck me so I forget.”

 

“I’m going to take you back to your hotel,” Steve told him instead, helping Bucky straighten out his clothing. 

 

Bucky scowled at him, but he thought that the fact he didn’t just walk away from Steve and back out to the dining area was probably more telling than any of his other actions were.  He didn’t come right out and concede, didn’t do much more than narrow his eyes at Steve as Steve was gentle with him, his large hands doing the exact opposite of what Bucky wanted them to do.

 

“Come on,” Steve urged.  “Maybe I’ll blow you once we get back if you look less ashen.”

 

 _I’m going back to the hotel. I’m not in the right mindset to be out in public_ , Bucky texted Sam as Steve opened the door to the back parking lot for him. That was another nice feature of this restaurant that Bucky wondered if Steve had planned ahead of time.  Fuck Bucky in the bathroom and then slip out unnoticed.  Bucky could appreciate the simplicity in it.  The foresight.  Maybe he and Steve weren’t so different after all.

 

**New text from Sam:**

_Yeah you were pretty harsh on Captain America._

 

 _Don’t call him that_ , Bucky texted back.

 

**New text from Sam:**

_He was all-American nice and you were a dick.  He’s exactly like Captain America_.

 

Steve didn’t do anything to help him into his rental SUV, though Bucky had been kind of expecting to be babied.  Instead, he sat in the driver’s seat and patiently waited for Bucky to open the door, sit down, and buckle himself in.  None of those actions took him a long time, necessarily, but the fact that he was moving slower than Steve was evident by the way he clicked his seatbelt closed while the engine of the SUV was already running.

 

Bucky was just doing the best he could not to curl his arm around himself protectively.  He wasn’t sure what there was left to save face for, but he’d rather grit his teeth and bear it than show weakness in front of Steve Rogers.

 

Bucky was a stubborn idiot.

 

“Which hotel am I aiming for?” Steve questioned, leaning over to enter it into the vehicle’s GPS.  Bucky envied his easy movements.  He expected more from Steve than silence – maybe some questions about what happened, which he wouldn’t be able to answer, or maybe even a lecture on taking care of himself. 

 

Steve didn’t live down to those expectations.  Steve just drove and kept his mouth shut.

 

x.x.x.

 

Bucky hadn’t expected Steve to give him what he needed, assuming that he’d get squeamish at the idea of using Bucky’s bruised body for pleasure.  He looked at Steve’s earnest good looks and underestimated him again.  Steve took his time, waiting until they were back in Bucky’s hotel room before getting him to lean back against the desk and sucking him down greedily, as though he was making up for all the ways he couldn’t touch Bucky without hurting him by lavishing attention on a place where he could.

 

It was exactly what Bucky needed

 

It was messy and wet, the type of blow job someone who looked like Steve shouldn’t even know how to give, and Bucky loved every second of it, his fingers gripping Steve’s hair as Steve peeled Bucky’s tight jeans down his legs, encouraging him to step out of them.  Bucky was standing in his hotel room wearing socks and a shirt, his dick wet and a little chilled in the air conditioned room, but rock hard and jutting towards Steve’s mouth.  Instead, Steve pulled off his socks and then stood, his fingers curling around the hem of Bucky’s shirt, his mouth red and smeared with spit and his hair a mess from Bucky’s fingers. 

 

It was distracting in a way that had Bucky parting his lips for a kiss.

 

It wasn’t until Steve turned to Bucky’s open carry-on to fish out the lube, completely dressed with no thought to his own clothing, that Bucky realized he’d just been strategically distracted and helped out of his constrictive clothing.

 

Smooth, but no.

 

“Thanks for the assist,” Bucky said sarcastically, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the desk again, not deliberately making a show of his nudity.  Steve had hissed when he pealed Bucky out of his shirt, getting a good look at the bruises across Bucky’s skin and understanding the tense way he was holding himself to try to minimize the pain.  His mouth had tightened, but he hadn’t commented on it to Bucky.  It was clear he was being gentle, but at least he wasn’t trying to talk to Bucky about going to a hospital.  Bucky felt like kneeing him in the nose anyway, and reminding Steve that he was self-sufficient. 

 

That was always Bucky’s response to being helped.

 

“I’m not babying you,” Steve said, responding to the derisive curl of Bucky’s mouth.  “And I’m not trying to be sweet.  I took 30 seconds of my time so you didn’t have to spend five minutes in pain trying to get out of those pants – because I was on my knees already, so it would be an asshole move not to.  Not because I was trying to be particularly kind.  So stop being defensive about it.”

 

Surprisingly enough that was the right thing to say to Bucky. 

 

Bucky watched Steve as he took off his own shirt, interested in the way Steve was watching him.  It wasn’t the look someone gave a person they were about to bundle up and nurture.   Instead, Steve got back on his knees in front of him, getting his gorgeous mouth on Bucky’s dick.  He watched as Steve took out the lube and started opening him up, slowly, easing his mouth off Bucky’s dick so he could suck a bruise into the skin of Bucky’s inner thigh.

 

“That’s going to leave a mark,” Bucky pointed out, breathless and wanting to laugh as Steve looked up at him, his face red and flushed and his chin coated in saliva.  “One more won’t matter,” he shrugged.

 

“It does,” Steve answered, watching his hand attentively as he slid a second finger into Bucky.  “You got all of these on the job.  You’ll see them and they’ll be an inconvenience for you and you’ll wish they were gone so you can get back to work, but this one,” he said, brushing his thumb over it.  “This one you’ll see and think of this.  That’s got to be a better option.”

 

Bucky snorted and he wanted to tease Steve for being so high school as to give him a hickey, but he knew that wasn’t it.  Maybe Steve understood more about Bucky than he usually gave him credit for.  It felt like it, anyway, even as Steve got to his feet and moved away from him.

 

“Come here,” Steve said, sitting on the bed and pulling Bucky to him. He encouraged Bucky to climb on top of him, and Bucky moved up to kneel on the bed with his knees on either side of Steve’s hips.  He looked down at Steve for a moment, and for a second of sparkling clarity as Steve blinked up at him, lips swollen from Bucky's dick and a flush over his face and neck, Bucky was jolted into the realization that Steve was very attractive in a way that he rarely took note of.

 

He was attractive like he was _Bucky’s_.  The thought was fleeting, gone the second Steve’s large hands were back on his body, guiding Bucky into sitting on his cock.  It wasn’t the first time Steve had fucked him, but it was the first time it wasn’t after Bucky was already relaxed from round one.  He loved how big Steve felt, with the kind of dick that needed an extra squirt of lube and five minutes added prep time to take easily. 

 

His thighs were splayed on either side of Steve’s body, knees pressed against the soft surface of the bed.  One of Steve’s capable hands was holding Bucky’s hip, easing him through the pace he wanted as Steve moved his body beneath Bucky’s, fucking up into him in a hard, undulating motion.

 

“Fuck,” Bucky breathed, his fingers digging into Steve’s forearm.  The view was spectacular, all those chiseled, golden muscles spread out beneath him, moving in a way that showed off the ridges of Steve’s abs and the strength of his shoulders.  Steve’s eyes were intent on him, watching Bucky like he could look right through his shields and defenses to the core of him.

 

“Christ,” he said, throwing his head back as he tried to breathe through his open mouth.  He couldn’t seem to draw air into his lungs, and it had nothing to do with his hurt ribs.  Steve’s hands slid down to his thighs in a comforting motion as Bucky came.  Steve continued through it, bracing him with hands on his hips and holding Bucky still as he continued fucking into him.  “Fuck,” Bucky breathed, deliberately clenching down.  “Yeah, come on.”

 

It took Steve a few more thrusts to come.

 

Steve hadn’t been particularly sweet or kind, he was right about that, but he managed to give Bucky exactly what he needed, so maybe that made Steve wrong about it as well.  There was a sweetness in the concept rather than in each action individually, and Bucky was grateful for a man who knew when to help and how to fuck him afterwards.

 

He was dozing on his back after rolling off Steve, tired from sex but also from his long and physically exhausting day.  He was aware of just enough to know that Steve was next to him in bed, radiating warmth that settled into Bucky’s skin with contentment.  He drifted off to sleep wondering if he should go find an ice pack or if it would be too much effort. 

 

Bucky fully woke up to Steve moving off the bed, and opened his eyes to Steve tugging his shirt back on, hiding all those spectacular muscles from view. That was regrettable.  Bucky would have to fix that. “Hey,” he said, smiling.  “Going so soon?”

 

“It’s five in the morning,” Steve answered, coming around so he could sit at the side of the bed as he pulled on his socks and shoes.  “I stayed longer than I meant to.  We slept,” he clarified, as though Bucky couldn’t have figured that one out for himself.

 

“Then stay a little longer,” Bucky answered with another grin, running his hand along Steve’s thigh.  “What harm could it do?”

 

Steve laughed out through his nose, a soft, fond sound with just a tinge of exasperation.  “If I stay any later your coworkers might notice me leaving,” he pointed out.  “I thought that might matter to you.”

 

“It really doesn’t,” Bucky told him, shaking his head and reaching for Steve’s shirt.  He groaned as he tried to lift his upper body.  “Oh fuck,” he said instead, curling a hand protectively around his middle as he flopped back onto the pillow.  “Yep, going to have to get that checked out.”

 

“Bucky.”

 

“I’ve broken ribs before.”  He brushed off Steve’s sharp, concerned look.  “It’s just annoying as fuck to sit at a desk until they heal.”  Second only to sitting at a desk doing paperwork because some asshole decided he wanted to be a hero and tricked Bucky into allowing it.

 

Steve put his hand flat against the bruising on Bucky’s side.

 

“Give me something to keep my mind off it?” Bucky gave Steve his most charming smile.   “I bet if you’re careful I’m still relaxed and lubed enough from last night for you to just stick it in me.”

 

Steve grimaced at mental image.  “You’re in a better mood this morning.”

 

“I wonder why.”  Bucky was outright flirting now.  He’d been semi-joking about Steve fucking him, but parts of the offer had appeal.  He could almost feel what it would be like for Steve to just spread open Bucky’s legs and thrust in.  It made arousal gather at the base of his spine. He felt light in a way that he hadn’t before last night, and he wanted to keep that feeling. “Christ, you’re a great fuck.”

 

Steve hummed in agreement, tilting down and kissing Bucky.  “I’m enjoying it too.”  Then he stood up and headed for the door. 

 

“Wait.  What?” Bucky said with a laugh as Steve’s hand curled around the door handle.  “All that and you’re not tempted to stay?”  Steve seemed at his most amenable when he’d already reached the door, like his brain was already hesitating and it would just take a little nudge for Bucky to sway him.  Bucky was willing to exploit that knowledge as much as he could get away with.

 

“I’m always tempted to stay,” Steve said simply, and then walked out.

 

Bucky ended up laughing even though he was alone in his hotel room.  Steve hadn’t even sucked his dick goodbye.  What an asshole. 

 

Bucky liked that about him.

 

x.x.x.

 

“Seriously?” Sam questioned with a look of extreme judgement as Bucky winced and shifted in his seat.  “How did you meet someone?  When did you have time?”  Then he grimaced.  “ _In the bathroom at the restaurant_?” he hissed in a low, judgmental tone.

 

“I have broken ribs,” Bucky grumbled, one arm curled around his torso.  Now that he’d caved and gone to the hospital for it instead of denying it, Bucky was going to milk as much sympathy as he could.  “Why would you think I’m wincing for another reason?”

 

“You overshare,” Sam responded simply.  “I unfortunately can tell the difference from the last time you bragged.”

 

“Do you hear me bragging?” Bucky downed a bottle of water and a painkiller, feeling like a pout was permanently on his face.  “’Cause I would be if I managed to have sex with these ribs still fresh.  I imagine that would have taken some creativity.”

 

Too bad he couldn’t stop himself from smirking, otherwise he might have been convincing.  Self-congratulation probably wasn’t a good expression to wear when trying to convince a coworker he hadn’t just gotten laid.

 

“I can’t believe you.”

 

“Obviously I didn’t have time to go meet someone.”  It was a last ditch effort.  Weak at best.  He was basically asking Sam to figure it out.

 

“Oh no,” Sam responded, banging his head against the back of the seat.  “Oh no.  You hate-fucked Captain America.”

 

“I did no such thing!” Bucky responded in an indignant tone. 

 

“I love Captain America.  He’s all that’s good and pure on television.  He makes me want to be a better person.  _Me_.  Any time he’s in the media it’s because he’s saved a small animal from a tree or he donated to some cause.  You defiled a National Icon.  You should be ashamed.”

 

“Hey!” Bucky was outraged.  “He defiled me.  Good and hard.”

 

“I hate you. So much.”

 

x.x.x.

 

“Hello?” Steve questioned, and Bucky could hear the yawn in his voice, even over the phone.

 

“Hey,” he answered, simply.  “So you were right.  I’m thinking about you?”

 

“What exactly are you thinking of?”  Steve sounded more alert than he did seconds ago.

 

“I’m thinking about that night in LA,” Bucky said, running his hand up his thigh.  The mark Steve left had faded first, before the bruising over his ribs or the one on his shoulder, but the memory of it was enough to make Bucky hard.  “I was wondering what would have happened in the bathroom stall if I wasn’t injured.”

 

“I had lube in my pocket,” Steve admitted.  “I came to find you for a purpose.”

 

“Getting laid?” Bucky questioned, delighted that all his speculation had been right.  “Steve, that’s naughty. I think we should acknowledge who is using whom in this scenario.”

 

“You think I was trying to use you?” Steve didn’t sound very impressed. 

 

“Well I think we mutually use each other.  That’s the point of us having sex,” Bucky returned.  “I appreciate that you’re trying to get yours.  Is there anything else you want from me?  I’d be more than happy to give it to you.”

 

“Sleep.  You called me at 4 in the morning.”

 

“Oh,” Bucky answered, feeling sheepish. “You’re still on West Coast time?”

 

“I’m not getting back for a few days.  We’re still filming in the studio.”

 

“I can let you go, then.  Take care of this myself.”  Bucky meant it as a tease.  Waking up in the morning in his own bed with his sheets warm around him, a sexy dream barely remembered on the fringes on his mind, always put him in the mood to get off.  Usually he took care of himself, either slow and drawn out or quickly, depending on whether he needed to get to work or not.  He’d been poised to, but then his fantasy had Steve’s face and he couldn’t think of a good reason not to indulge in hearing Steve’s voice as well. 

 

Bucky was considerate like that. 

 

“Okay, then.  Have fun with your hand,” Steve answered and then hung up the phone.

 

Bucky stared at the ‘call ended’ signal, bemused.  He felt like he was gaping, surprised that Steve had actually ended the call on him.   He also wanted to laugh because he couldn’t deny that he probably had it coming, waking Steve up and expecting phone sex. 

 

**New text from Steve:**

_I’m thinking about what your face probably looks like right now and laughing._

 

**New text from Steve:**

_I'm actually too tired.  But maybe we can try the bathroom stall again sometime?_

 

What an actual asshole.

 

Bucky rolled his eyes and searched Google for images of Steve instead.  One of the first results was a picture of Steve shirtless, and Bucky could appreciate the fact that very little photoshop was needed to make him ridiculously attractive for the internet.  Bucky had _had that_.  Multiple times.

 

 And it had been _amazing_.

 

 _Fine_ , he texted Steve back and included a screenshot.  _You sleep and I’ll jerk off to this shirtless picture of you._

 

**New text from Steve:**

_Seems like a good compromise._

 

 _Go the fuck to sleep!!!_ Bucky answered.

 

He meant to get off and forget about it, but Googling Steve opened the door on his sense of curiosity, and instead of starting his day with a visit to the gym and breakfast, he started his day mainlining coffee and shoveling cereal into his face as he stared at pictures of Steve on various red carpets with dates.

 

And holy fuck.  Holy fuck did that give Bucky new appreciation for why Steve seemed to understand his tricks and have some of his own.  If the internet was to be believed, Steve Rogers got around.

 

Steve Rogers got around, and yet he’d stood in Bucky’s doorway and told him that with Bucky, it could never be a one-night stand, that he’d get attached.  There were pictures on the internet of Steve and beautiful women who even Bucky recognized, some of them posed but also some of them candid shots in Brooklyn and LA.    

 

He had to go jerk off again to the image of Steve and his mouth and his string of dates, because there was something inherently sexy about it that Bucky couldn’t really put his finger on.  Bucky didn’t expect that Steve had sex with all of them, but even if he was intimate with a few, they weren’t the ones currently in his bed.  Bucky was.

 

Bucky’s ego loved it.

 

x.x.x.

 

**New text from Steve:**

_Thinking about you riding me in LA._

 

**New text from Steve:**

_I want you to do that to me.  I want to feel you fuck up into me while I kneel there enjoying the view._

 

**New text from Steve:**

_You’re beautiful when you’re lost in arousal._

 

**New text from Steve:**

_I’ve been watching the news.  Stay safe._

 

x.x.x.

 

 _I’m bored_ , Bucky texted Steve, not bothering to hide his phone from the teammate sitting next to him in the SWAT vehicle.  It was very much discouraged for them to have their personal cell phones on them, but he could see at least three members of his team were playing a game app, one more was watching Netflix, and their supervisory agent was texting his wife.  Bucky had looked through each of his contacts alphabetically, looking for a specific type of entertainment and dismissing each one until he got to Steve’s name and realized what he should have known the entire time.  Steve was the only one who could be counted on to give Bucky the kind of banter he enjoyed.

 

**New text from Steve:**

_What are you wearing?_

 

Bucky considered lying.  _Full tactical gear.  You?_

 

**New text from Steve:**

_I’d tell you how hot that is but I have the feeling you’re not making it up to turn me on.  Did I ever tell you that image might be a favorite mental image of mine?_

 

**Bucky:** _No.  Do elaborate.  Is it the uniform?  Is it the weaponry?  You’re a walking cliché, Steve Rogers.  I never would have guessed it about you._

 

**New text from Steve:**

_Sure, all those things are hot, but I can’t help but think how good you’d have to be to make an elite squad.  Team?_

 

 _Team_ , Bucky supplied.  _But I like squad too.  You didn’t answer my question.  What are you wearing?_

 

**New text from Steve:**

_WWII army dress uniform._

 

 _Why?_ Bucky questioned.  _That’s oddly specific for a joke._

 

**New text from Steve:**

_For the show????_

 

 **Bucky:** _Oh right, I forgot it was a period thing.  Most pictures just have you wearing a patriotic scuba suit_.

 

**New text from Steve:**

_Scuba suit_

 

**New text from Steve:**

_Is it easier if I just say I’m naked?_

 

 _Idk_ , Bucky responded.  _We could try doing this layer by layer but I’m not sure when we’ll be deployed._

 

**New text from Steve:**

_Let’s pretend the sexting was really mindblowing etc. Skip all the layer by layer stuff, acknowledge that neither of us is in a place where we can genuinely get off and this whole thing would be sexting chicken, and instead I’ll tell you about the time I punched Donald Trump’s son in the face._

 

Bucky grinned.  _But Steve the sexting chicken is the fun part._

 

Then: _Which son?_

 

“Why are you smiling?” Sam asked.  “Something funny?  Is it cat videos?”

 

“Run out of lives in Candy Crush?”

 

“…yes.”

 

x.x.x.

 

Bucky leaned back on Sam’s couch, enjoying the taste of the burger and the beer in front of him.  He’d only managed to catch the last thirty minutes of the game, only leaving work after a long shift that turned into overtime.  When he’d arrived, Sam had clasped his hand over Bucky’s shoulder in sympathy and gestured towards his kitchen, promising food. 

 

So the burger was dry from being cooked about 4 hours before and then left to keep on a warming plate, and the lettuce was a little wilty, but neither of those things were Sam’s fault.  The beer was cold, and food had been saved for him. That was all that mattered.

 

Bucky was almost too sleepy to watch the game, but he knew what he needed was to relax with other people around.  Assignments were always worse when there were kids involved.

 

Bucky drifted awake to a familiar deep voice laughing and saying something in that snarky tone he’d gotten used to, almost with a sense of fondness.  “Steve,” he murmured, hand reaching out beside him a second before he realized he was leaning against the arm of Sam’s couch.  He winced in confusion as he raised his head, recognizing that he was still in Sam’s living room, the game was over, and Sam was sitting in the arm chair across from him watching television.

 

Or, well, the moment Bucky woke, Sam’s attention drifted to him.

 

Bucky wasn’t confused by where he was.  He was confused by why he’d woken to Steve’s voice in his ear and Sam looking at him in surprise.  Then his attention spanned to the television, where some asshole in a World War II uniform was staring down at a map.

 

Bucky recognized that asshole.  Had been in it a few times.

 

“Oh,” he said, realizing that he was looking at _The Howling Commandos_ on tv.

 

If anything, Sam’s eyes widened.  Bucky was covered in a garish red homemade throw blanket, so there was no way that Sam had missed the fact that Bucky was on his couch.  It wasn’t Bucky’s presence that did it.

 

“You and…” Sam said, looking towards the television and then back at Bucky.  Steve was no longer in the scene, but Bucky knew what he meant.  “But… you said it was hate-sex.”

 

“That’s a thing,” Bucky pointed out, throwing off the throw blanket and sitting up.  He rubbed his face with the heel of his palm, trying to scrub out a day’s worth of stress.  The thing of it was, he was disappointed not to wake up and find Steve there.  It was throwing him off, and he itched to go for his phone to see if there were any new texts from Steve.

 

It probably wasn’t the best timing to convince Sam that everything between Steve Rogers and himself was based on one night of rage fucking.

 

Sam’s sarcastic eyebrow went up.  “Hate-sex, sure,” he responded.  “I could see that if you didn’t hear his voice and reach for him.  That’s not hate-sex behavior.  That’s…” Sam looked at Bucky like he’d never seen him before.  “Really _not_ hate-sex behavior.”

 

 _Maybe it is if you have it often enough,_ Bucky thought about saying, but was smart enough not to encourage Sam with evidence backing up his own point.  Bucky shrugged instead.  “He leaves a lasting impression.”

 

Sam was quiet as both of them turned to look at the television.  Steve had his hands on his hips, lecturing someone about something.  It made Bucky want to smile at him.

 

“I like this show.  Don’t ruin it for me with details.”  That was the exact opposite thing Sam should say to discourage Bucky, and he seemed to realize it too, holding up a hand to warn Bucky away from his thought process.  “Either watch it with me without commentary on what Captain America looks like naked, or leave.”

 

Bucky didn’t feel like driving just yet, so he drew the blanket back over his lap and slouched back against the cushioned couch arm.  He was able to stay quiet right up to the point where Steve took off his shirt.  “Wait.  Why is he shirtless?” Bucky questioned.  “That’s completely gratuitous.  No actual soldier would strip off his shirt for a stealth mission.”

 

Sam shrugged.  “Don’t do that either.  You realize that television is supposed to be mindless entertainment, right?  You get the concept? Most people could sit here and enjoy the gratuitous shirtless scenes and the CGI abs and the background explosions, and appreciate that it’s all for fun.”

 

“The abs are real,” Bucky felt the need to point out, defending all the work Steve obviously put into his job if they made him take his shirt off every episode.  The only thing that looked like it was airbrushed was the scar over Steve’s chest. “You don’t appreciate how real they are until you’ve licked whipped cream off them.”

 

Which he hadn’t.  Bucky would have to add that to the growing list of things he wanted to try with Steve.  It didn’t have to be whipped cream, just something sweet and sticky enough that he’d have to take his time to lick every trace of it off Steve’s skin.  He always did enjoy sweet and salty.

 

Sam sighed, long and aggrieved.  “What did I ask you?” he asked.  “One rule, Bucky!”

 

Bucky made a face at him and pulled out his phone, texting his concerns about the show to Steve instead:  _No real soldier would get half-naked for stealth missions._  

 

Steve answered a few moments later.

 

**New text from Steve:**

_You’re watching the Howling Commandos?_

 

**New text from Steve:**

_YOU? Thought you were at Sam’s for game night._

 

 _He’s forcing me. I have concerns about the accuracy of these scenes_ , Bucky texted back.

 

**New text from Steve:**

_Make a list, then.  I’ll make sure it gets to where it needs to go._

 

Bucky looked at his phone in delight.  Steve might not think that Bucky would take the time to list his grievances, but he was obviously underestimating Bucky’s resolve.

 

**New text from Steve:**

_Probably the garbage._

 

Oh, it was on.

 

“I need to find season 1 of _The Howling Commandos_ ,” Bucky said to Sam. 

 

“It’s on Netflix,” Sam answered.  “You know what Netflix is, don’t you?”

 

“Sure,” Bucky answered.  He was sure he could figure it out easily enough.  He knew how to Google shit, and that was the main thing.

 

“I’m surprised that you’re interested in watching the rest of it,” Sam observed.  “You ruined Pacific Rim for me, and this show is so much worse because it’s not trying to world-build something new.  It basically ignores time-appropriate technology, the military procedures seem like they’re developed by a kid with a handful of toy soldiers, and a lot of things could be solved if anyone just used common sense.”

 

“Perfect,” Bucky smiled, getting to his feet and draping the blanket over the back of the couch. 

 

“Perfect?” Sam echoed in disbelief, following Bucky towards the door.  “Are you good to drive?”

 

“I had half a beer three hours ago,” Bucky answered, completely dismissing the question.

 

“That wasn’t what I asked,” Sam responded, holding eye contact.

 

“Yeah.  A little sleepy, but probably better leaving than I was coming.”

 

x.x.x.

 

Bucky enjoyed watching _The Howling Commandos_.  It wasn’t because Steve was in front of him on the screen, though he wasn’t taking that fact out of the equation entirely.  Bucky liked watching the show with his notebook in hand, writing down everything about it that pissed him off.  Some were so petty that it was funny to read them over, but most were actual complaints.  The anachronisms in the show were strong, and he had a running tally of the amount of times red maple trees were in the forest scenes based in Germany.

 

Too many.

 

Bucky enjoyed watching _The Howling Commandos_ because seeing Steve on his screen made him feel warm, pleased at watching Steve’s stupid face say stupid things.  Bucky felt proud whenever Captain America won because the triumphant expression on his face was the same expression Steve had made when he peeled Bucky’s tight jeans off his legs, and…

 

Ok.  So he spent a lot of time jerking off.

 

But then the abs were real, so no one could really blame him for that one.

 

The first time he saw Steve in the WWII Army dress uniform, he’d actually sat up sharply and paused the screen, gaping in surprise at what it did for Steve’s shoulders.  Holy fuck, Steve was hot, and he was hot in a way that translated to clothes from any decade.  He figured that it was the broad shoulders and the slim waist that did it, giving Steve a classic shape that was normally only seen on fictional superheroes.

 

If he hadn’t seen Steve naked he might have thought it was done through the help of CGI.  He didn’t blame people for assuming that one.

 

“Hey, so…” he said, when Steve picked up the phone.  “Cap is writhing on the ground in pain and you’re making the same face you make when you come.”

 

“I could have done without knowing that about myself,” Steve answered.  “Maybe I should tape myself having sex so I know how to avoid that.”

 

“Well I could live without knowing that I could pop a boner at someone dying, so I think we’re even.”  Bucky was not touching the idea of Steve having a sex tape.  He'd probably end up watching _that_ too.  And starting a new notebook full of petty observations for Steve.  They'd never be able to have sex again.

 

"You could help me with it," Steve said in a flirty tone.

 

Bucky wasn't touching that one either.  The _last thing_ he needed was to start a notebook full of observations about his own technique.  "You don't really want to film yourself, do you?"

 

"No," Steve admitted.  "It would have to be with someone I really trusted as something we could look back on fondly.  I don't want to just... make a video of sex."

 

Implying that he didn't trust Bucky?  Smart.  Implying that Bucky wasn't the 'look back on something fondly' type?  Also very smart. "Yeah," Bucky agreed.  "I'm not the person to do that with."


	5. The one where Bucky goes to NY willingly and is a jaded and cynical Brooklynite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I spend a lot of time laughing at how inept Bucky is at falling in love.

“So I have the long weekend off.  How’s your work schedule?” Bucky asked, pulling a yogurt out of his fridge.  He considered his food situation and wondered if eating a whole lasagna was a terrible decision. 

 

It was probably a terrible decision, but it was tempting.

 

“I’ve got a late night show interview scheduled for Saturday evening, but the rest is free,” Steve answered.  “Are you asking me to travel to DC for a 24 hour booty call?”

 

Maybe Bucky should just order in some food.  “A booty call isn’t a terrible idea,” Bucky mused.  “It would occupy the next three days, and sex with you is worth the effort it would take to get on a plane.  It’s worth more effort than that, actually.”

 

“You give the best compliments,” Steve said in a dry tone.  “But not even your sweet talking will convince me to travel over 200 miles to see you so soon after I got home from filming.”

 

“Think of the orgasms.”  Now Bucky was thinking about it, though, and it didn’t make sense for Steve to assume that he’d be the one making the effort.  “I don’t blame you for being tired, so I have a crazy idea – why don’t I come to you?”

 

“I’m touched.”  Steve sounded sarcastic.  “But sure, I could use a break from travelling.”

 

“Ok, how about I get there Friday night and then we see what happens?”  Bucky thought the yogurt he was eating might be off.  When was the last time he bought yogurt?

 

Steve was silent on the other end of the line, then he seemed to inhale sharply like he’d been holding his breath for something.  “Are you sure you mean to imply that you’re asking to spend the weekend with me?  In Brooklyn.”

 

“I didn’t think I was implying anything,” Bucky answered, licking the spoon.  “I was trying to be clear that I don’t have plans and I’d be willing to come to you, if you agree to those being your plans as well.”

 

“Yeah.  I think I’d like to see you this weekend.”

 

“Great, I’ll fly in tomorrow night after work, then,” Bucky said.

 

There was no point getting takeout if the leftovers were going to go bad in his fridge over the weekend.  Bucky had a few emergency frozen meals in his freezer for the exhausting days when he worked almost 24 hours with far too few food breaks.  Sometimes he lived a rebellious lifestyle and opened one when it wasn’t an emergency.

 

x.x.x.

 

It hit Bucky as the plane was landing in New York City exactly what he was doing.  He was visiting Brooklyn with no intention of stopping by to see his family, and he had a lot cheaper fuckbuddies available to him in DC if he wanted them.  He didn’t find staying in DC appealing, even though Bucky travelled for work a lot more often than Steve did.  It didn’t even occur to him to point out that Bucky’s second home was practically on a plane during their initial conversation.

 

He wanted to spend the weekend with Steve.

 

And, well, he wasn’t going to bother being concerned about that because Steve felt so good when they were fucking that he was still jerking off to the memory of that night in Los Angeles.  If Bucky wanted to experience that again and Steve was ok with it, then he didn’t see any point in denying himself that one small pleasure.

 

Or.

 

Well.

 

Steve wasn’t exactly something Bucky would refer to as a small pleasure, but he was certainly a treat that Bucky wasn’t going to deny himself.

 

Bucky kissed Steve the moment he was through the door.  This time the luggage trailing behind him was abandoned in the foyer, not because there wasn’t anywhere else to put it, but because Bucky was too busy getting Steve out of his pants to care if it was moved up to the bedroom or not.  He’d been thinking of Steve for too long without seeing him to do anything but jump him the moment he was through the door.

 

They didn’t make it to the bed again either, falling in a tangle on the stairs.  Steve groaned when his back dug into one of the steps. Bucky’s hand was already in his pants, and he gasped-laughed at the sound coupled with the fact that Steve was already hard.  “Have you been anticipating this since I texted you that I boarded?”

 

“Have you?” Steve threw back at him.

 

Of course he had.  “The flight felt really long when every bit of turbulence made me have to adjust myself.  The person next to me was definitely grossed out.”

 

But the anticipation was amazing.

 

Steve laughed, curling his fingers in Bucky’s hair as he drew him back in for a kiss.  Despite the urgency to touch each other, they spent the next five minutes kissing and slowly jerking each other off.  “I missed you,” Bucky said afterwards, laying back on the stairs and staring at the familiar view of Steve’s ceiling.  He was sure they’d made it to Steve’s bed before, Bucky had definite memories of the bedroom, but he couldn’t actually name a point when it happened.  He ended up laughing again at the view.  At least they hadn’t destroyed any furniture.

 

“You talk to me almost every day,” Steve pointed out, somehow managing to balance on his side on the stairs, even though the right angle between one step and the other seemed dwarfed by his shoulders.  He was grinning at Bucky, that doofy post-orgasm expression Bucky had first seen the last time they’d fucked on Steve’s stairs. 

 

Bucky moved in and bit at Steve’s bottom lip.  That was what he got for breathing through his mouth and having it open around Bucky.  “Sure, but that’s mostly dumb shit.  Maybe I should have been more clear by addressing your dick directly.”

 

“It’s happy to see you too.  Are you hungry?”

 

“Yeah,” Bucky said, kissing Steve again.  “I could eat.”

 

“Great, I have the kitchen staged to look like I made sandwiches.  Threw around some pieces of lettuce, spread some bread crumbs, hid the packaging from the deli in the garbage.”

 

Bucky snorted as Steve pulled him to his feet.  “Homemade sandwiches.  You spoil me.”

 

“Only the best for you,” Steve promised with a grin.

 

x.x.x.

 

Bucky was comfortable when he woke up with Steve’s arm curled over him, all warm and snug.  He didn’t want to move but somehow they’d eaten, detoured to Steve’s bedroom to fool around a bit more, and then they’d fallen asleep.

 

Bucky didn’t do sleeping naked.  It made him feel vulnerable, and Bucky spent his life avoiding that feeling.

 

“Where are you going?” Steve grumbled, turning over to look at Bucky and surveying him from under half-lidded eyes.  “It’s the middle of the night.”

 

“It’s 10 pm,” Bucky pointed to the clock.

 

“So?”

 

Bucky didn’t know for sure, but he suspected that Steve thought that he sneaking out.  Obviously he hadn’t figured out that when Bucky was starting to feel uncomfortable with the physical intimacy of cuddling he initiated sex until he could sleep again.  “My luggage is downstairs,” Bucky pointed out.  “And I don’t feel comfortable sleeping naked in someone else’s bed – ingrained from spending half of my life in a hotel, I think.  And always needing to be ready in case a call comes in.”

 

“A lot of people sleep naked in hotels,” Steve pointed out.  “But be quick, it’s cold without you here.”

 

“It’s May,” Bucky returned.  “Maybe don’t sleep with your window open.”

 

He dodged the pillow Steve threw at him, making a mental note to pick it up on his way back from retrieving his luggage.  Steve had definitely thrown the one from the side of the bed Bucky was sleeping on, because Steve was a _fantastic human being_.  He turned the overhead light on in response, bathing the room in light.

 

“I have a present for you,” Bucky said, digging through his overnight bag once he was back in the bedroom. 

 

Steve sighed, throwing his arm across his eyes like the dramatic douchebucket he was.  “I’m too tired for another present.  Let me rest.”

 

“It’s an actual present, you dick,” Bucky answered in an unimpressed tone and it was completely feigned to counteract Steve’s melodrama.  He pulled out the notebook of all his complaints about _The Howling Commandos_ and dropped it on Steve’s lap.  “I made it just for you.  From the heart.”

 

Steve stared at the first page, skimming over the notes Bucky had made as Bucky slipped into his pajama pants.  “Buck…” he started, staring at him.  “These are really comprehensive.”

 

“Season 1 and 2.  Haven’t gotten to 3 yet.”

 

“You’re watching my show.”  Somehow, Steve managed to sound both surprised and emotional, like giving him a notebook of all the bullshit that went on in _The Howling Commandos_ – pages and pages of Bucky’s complaints – was the most romantic present he’d ever gotten.  He treated the notebook like it was precious.

 

“You have low standards for presents.  I’ll have to remember that.”

 

“You complained on episode 5 that I take my shirt off too much and then in episode 13 you complain that it’s been a while since I took my shirt off and the quality of what you’re watching is suffering for it.”  Steve looked up at him, smiling widely. “You should put these online. Fandom would love it.”

 

Bucky made a face at him.  “Look, what I should do is take you to a shooting range and teach you how to handle your weapons.  You hold a gun like you’re cradling a small child and terrified it’s about to go off, not like a weapon you know how to use and respect.  It’s embarrassing to watch.” 

 

“C’mere,” Steve said, tugging Bucky towards him.  “I fooled you.  Acting.”

 

“Yeah,” Bucky hedged, but moved easily.  “That’s what makes it embarrassing.”

 

x.x.x.

 

There was something that he rarely considered when he thought about having the type of person who was there beside him with any kind of regularity.  It wasn’t the ease of access to sex, though that was fucking spectacular and seemed to be getting better every time they tried it, it was that Steve had learned small things about Bucky already, like the way he took his coffee.

 

Steve learned them and remembered them.

 

It wasn’t really a huge deal to get his coffee the way he liked it handed to him once they both made it out of the shower.  Bucky had spent a few moments longer fixing his hair in the mirror than Steve had, so by the time he got down to the kitchen, the coffee was ready and Steve was already standing with his own mug, his pajama bottoms long enough that the more they slid down his hips, the more they pooled at his feet. For once in his life Bucky regretted having shower sex.

 

He regretted it because that meant that counter sex was off the table for a while longer.

 

“Thanks,” he spoke around the rim of the mug. 

 

“Do you have plans for today or were you considering staying in?”

 

“The only activities I have planned are with your dick,” Bucky informed him, using his coffee mug to create a sense of nonchalance.  “The rest of you is optional if you have somewhere to be.”

 

“If only it worked that way,” Steve mused. He wasn’t even bothering to hide the crinkle of amusement around his eyes.  “I wouldn’t have to put up with your abhorrent personality to get off.”

 

“Maybe I do have an activity for today,” Bucky mused.  “If I went out and bought modelling kits, neither of us would have to see each other again.”

 

“I like this plan,” Steve told him, going to the fridge and taking out a carton of eggs and a slab of bacon. 

 

“The only problem I can see with it is that I would miss your ass and mouth if I only had your dick to satiate me.  Don’t get me wrong, it’s a good dick, but I can’t clone all of you, and I’d miss it.”

 

Steve snorted as he grabbed the frying pan from where it was drying in the dishrack.  He leaned across the counter island and dropped a quick kiss against Bucky’s mouth, all while smiling like Bucky had said something that struck him as hilarious.

 

Maybe his character had been cloned on the most recent series of the show.  It certainly seemed plausible that _The Howling Commandos_ writers would think that was a good idea with some of the story arcs they'd already explored.

 

“I’d miss you too,” Steve said.  “I’d miss you more if you would pull your weight and help with breakfast.”

 

“How about I keep you entertained instead?” Bucky questioned, falling to his knees and nuzzling the waistband of Steve’s pj bottoms.  His hand came up to play with the ties keeping them in place.  Steve had been very attentive in the shower and it was only right for Bucky to return the favor.

 

"Only if you want your bacon crispy," Steve observed, but his unamused tone was at odds with the way his fingers reached down and brushed Bucky's face.  There was a look on his face as he looked down at Bucky that wasn't just want in an aroused sense.  Bucky tipped his head up and observed Steve back.  Steve’s hand came up and caressed Bucky’s cheek, his thumb sliding across Bucky’s lip and into the corner of his mouth.  “You’re beautiful too, you know that, right?”

 

Bucky gave Steve a slow smile.  Then he opened his mouth and knelt there.  When Steve didn’t move, Bucky looked up at him.  “I like the idea of being a freeloader.  You want it, you’re going to have to do it yourself.  Put it in my mouth.”

 

Steve inhaled sharply.  “Bucky!”

 

x.x.x.

 

“So what do you actually want to do today?” Steve questioned once they finished making use of the kitchen.  Bucky had a goal to see the ceiling of every single one of Steve’s rooms before he left, one way or another.

 

“I…” he started, but it came out more like a croak.  Bucky cleared his throat and tried again.  His throat really had nothing on how much his neck ached.  He was starting to feel like he was too old to be giving blowjobs.

 

“Oh my god,” Steve said, eyes wide.  He looked sheepish with embarrassment, but also a little delighted to hear Bucky’s voice sound croaky.  “Put pants on, we’re going out for ice cream.  Do you like ice cream?  We can get sorbet instead.”

 

Bucky loved ice cream.  It was his one secret weakness, the one he rarely allowed himself to indulge in.  He never kept any in the freezer of his condo because he knew he wouldn’t be able to resist eating it for long, but he did know exactly what brands they sold at the closest corner store to his building, and he also had a restaurant programmed into his phone that would deliver on those really, really terrible days when he couldn’t get out of bed.

 

The last time he’d missed his shot and the hostage died had been an _order all the ice cream from an expensive restaurant_ kind of day.  Becca called that stress eating, but Bucky didn’t cope with stress like a normal person.

 

Bucky looked up and realized that he’d eagerly put his pants on without answering Steve, and was practically waiting by the door for him like a trained and obedient puppy expecting to be walked, with his jacket on and his feet half-way into his boots.

 

When Steve surveyed him with surprise, Bucky just shrugged.  “I could go for some ice cream.”

 

“I haven’t seen you look this excited about something.  It’s cute.”

 

“I’m jaded and cynical.” 

 

“You put your pants on inside out.”

 

“I’m also a trendsetter.”  If Bucky gave a fuck about what he was wearing, he wouldn’t be wearing pants it was even possible to put on inside out.

 

Yeah.  Ok.  It was going to bother him.

 

x.x.x.

 

“Do you trust me?” Bucky questioned in a sly tone, looking down at the ice cream options displayed through the glass display case. 

 

Steve hesitated.  “I’d trust you with a lot of things,” he finally answered.

 

That was completely a fair assessment to make.  Bucky was not the person to trust with your heart, for instance.  He was the person you trusted to get you out of a hostage situation.  He was also the person you trusted to get you to an amazing orgasm.  He was perfectly ok with those distinctions.  “Well, will you trust me to pick out an ice cream that tastes amazing?” he questioned.  “Just tell me if you prefer fruits or chocolate as the base.”

 

“I sincerely doubt any of them taste gross,” Steve pointed out, and then kissed Bucky lightly.  “But yes, I’ll enjoy whatever you get me.  I’m going to grab us a table.”

 

It didn’t occur to Bucky until he was standing in line that he and Steve had been in the shadows up to that point, secreting each other away and not touching in public.  He wondered at it, a slight niggling itch that considered Steve’s public persona and his casual disregard for being caught kissing a man while out getting ice cream.

 

By the time Bucky turned back around, concoctions of multiple flavors in both of his hands – and he hoped that Steve had a big appetite, because Bucky had indulged – Steve wasn’t alone.  Bucky sighed and rolled his eyes, approaching Steve from behind and expecting to hear someone gush about how great his boyfriend was on television.

 

“No,” Steve was saying, and he sounded embarrassed and regretful.  “I can’t do supper tonight, Bree.  I’m out with, uh… here he is.”

 

“Here he is,” Bucky agreed with a smile, handing Steve his cup of ice cream.  There was a jaunty cone sticking out of the top of it, like a snowman with a large wizard hat.  It made Bucky smile, because he didn’t want to do without one of the graham cones, even if he could do without the kind of messiness it brought with it.  Once his hand was free, he slid it around Steve’s waist in a possessive move he definitely was not going to think about closely, but seemed to make Steve laugh quietly to himself, like he was amused that Bucky was…

 

Jealous.  Bucky was jealous, ok?

 

Bucky was still smiling when he turned his head away from Steve to look at who he was talking to, knowing that it wasn’t a couple of fans because Steve had addressed one by name, but never expecting it to be his sister. 

 

“Becks?” Bucky questioned incredulously. One of the women had whispered ‘what the fuck?’ when Bucky arrived and sidled up to Steve, but he hadn’t thought much of it until he was face to face with his sister.  She was still staring at him with a shocked expression, as though any moment his face would morph into someone else's.

 

“Mom didn’t tell me that you’re home,” was the first thing that blurted out of her mouth.

 

Bucky winced and cast a sheepish expression towards Steve, hoping that he wouldn’t be judged too harshly for this.  “I never told her, and I wasn’t going to tell her.”

 

“You were going to come to town and not stop by?” Becca demanded.  “How often do you do that?  You know it would break their hearts if they knew.”

 

“I just…” Bucky started.  “I wanted…”

 

“It’s my fault,” Steve inserted.  “In invited him up for…” and then he trailed of because there was no G rated way to explain what Bucky was doing there for the weekend.  Steve winced at his sister, so Bucky took pity on him and patted his hip to show that he didn’t mind that Steve couldn’t finish the sentence.  It wasn’t exactly something he’d want to say to his lover’s sister, either. 

 

Luckily, Steve was an only child so he’d never have to have that kind of awkward conversation.

 

“It’s none of their goddamned business who I want to have sex with over my weekend off, Becca!  I don’t really feel comfortable stopping in on my parents with lube in my ass, now do I?  It’s weird enough with you.”

 

She made a face at him like he was the most disgusting person she’d ever met and she regretted that she was his sister.  Then she seemed to regroup because she grabbed him by the elbow and frog marched him over to the other side of the room. 

 

“You’re getting more and more like mom every day,” Bucky muttered.

 

“I’m taking that as a compliment.  If you’re dating someone seriously, you should tell them.  They worry about you, Bucky,” she said in a somber tone, as though Bucky should give a shit whether his parents thought it was time for him to settle down.

 

He mentioned that to Becca and she looked at him like he was the stupid link in the family.

 

“It’s not so much the white picket fence with the 2.5 kids,” Becca huffed in exasperation.  “But you seem to like a very fast lifestyle of danger, partying, and sex that –“

 

“Are you calling me fast?” Bucky snapped, crossing his arms over his chest.

 

“Are you taking insult to the truth?” Becca snapped back.  “You’re going to burn out before you’re thirty.  You have to be forced to take vacation, and it’s great that you love your job that much, but it’ll ease their minds a little bit if they knew you were dating someone local.”

 

“ _I’m not dating him_ ,” Bucky hissed in a hot tone, looking over towards Steve and Becca’s best friend to make sure neither of them heard him.  “Besides, what are you haranguing me for when Brianna just asked him to supper.”

 

Becca squinted at him for a moment before realizing something.  “He’s her cousin, you dorkus.  You don’t get to misdirect the conversation.  If you even hinted at dating Steve mom would probably get off your back about a lot of things.”

 

It was kind of hilarious to Bucky that Steve was considered a good choice.  A nice local boy for Bucky to settle down with, when the truth of it was that Steve was anything but nice, and had a job that made it so that anyone who Googled “Steve Rogers + Date” got a bunch of image results of Steve with supermodels and starlets.  A string of them even.

 

And fuck, when they met Steve punched out a bomber.  He’d been carrying a prop weapon and pretending it was real.  Bucky would have to be insane to look at Steve and see whatever everyone else saw when they looked at him. 

 

 _Safe?_   Bullshit.  Bucky’s mom should be terrified at the idea he was spending time with Steve Rogers.  “We’re not together.”

 

“It sure as hell looks like it to me,” Becca pointed out.  “A secret weekend to his place?  Who are you fooling?  Him or yourself?”

 

“It’s just sex,” Bucky retorted.  “Really fucking good sex.  The kind I would be stupid not to get while I can.”

 

“Are listening to yourself?” she questioned.  Then she narrowed her eyes, really observing him.  “I can’t wait for you to figure this out.  I hate you so much right now.  Half of Brooklyn would love the opportunity to get into Steve Rogers’s pants and you don’t even appreciate what you have.”

 

That put Bucky’s back up more than anything else she’d said to him.  It was ludicrous to think that Bucky didn’t appreciate what he had with Steve.  He just had to look in the general vicinity of the man and his dick started to chub up.  It wasn’t like that happened for Bucky with a lot of people.  Bucky snorted at her and stalked back over to Steve, taking a page out of the Barnes women handbook and gripping his elbow tightly in a way that said ‘let’s go.’

 

“We’re not coming to supper,” Steve said with a sense of finality to his cousin.  “We’re going to go home and fuck on my couch, because that’s what people do when their plans are to have sex all weekend.”

 

“Oh, don’t disrupt your date on our account,” Becca said, and though it sounded genuine, Bucky knew that she was making a dig at him.  “We were on our way out.”

 

Despite claims to the contrary, the moment they were out of sight Steve immediately sat down at a table, looking like he’d just gotten hit over the head. 

 

“Did your cousin not know you’re into men?” Bucky asked, aiming for sympathy but not sure he really felt it.

 

“I’ve been out to the people who matter since I was fifteen,” Steve responded, but it was obvious something was bothering him from the way he ran his hands through his hair and then left them clasped against his skull for a moment.

 

“This ice cream is amazing,” Bucky said, trying for casual as he scooped a spoonful into his mouth.  He pointed his spoon down towards his bowl.  “And I know ice cream.”

 

“I don’t know why I brought you here,” Steve observed after staring at Bucky.  “I shouldn’t have.”

 

That threw Bucky for a loop.  “Why? Because my sister and your cousin saw us?” Bucky questioned. 

 

“This place means a lot to me.  My parents came here all the time when they were first dating, and they brought me when I was young.  One of my only memories of my dad is sitting over at one of the counter stools with a strawberry shake.”

 

Bucky paused with his spoon part-way to his mouth.  What the fuck?  How was he supposed to respond to that?  “And that’s a problem,” he stated slowly.

 

“Is it?” Steve enquired.  “You’re the one who runs from emotional attachments and I just brought you to this place,” Steve said, gesturing around him.  “I didn’t even think until Bree pointed it out.”

 

Fuck.  Bucky wasn’t really great with this sort of thing.  He ended up shrugging.  “Your dad died when you were what? Five? Six?”

 

“Yeah.” 

 

“So it’s nice that you have somewhere that makes you think of him.  It’s good that it’s important to you, and maybe you think of it as a great place to get to know someone on a date, but that doesn’t mean that everyone you bring here has to be special.  It makes sense that you thought of ice cream and this place sprung to mind.  I’m not expecting a proposal just because you brought me here, so there’s no reason for you to regret it.”

 

If anything that made Steve frown more.  He was staring at Bucky like he’d never seen him before.

 

“If you want, I’ll promise to never come here again.  What’s one more place in Brooklyn I’m not allowed to go because I slept with someone?” Bucky shrugged, stealing a bite of Steve’s flavor to try it.  Steve didn’t even notice, the expression on his face confused and outraged, like he was going to argue with Bucky about whether or not Bucky could come back here.  The line between his eyebrows was deep enough to sail a yacht through. 

 

Steve was about to get on his justice train on Bucky’s behalf, and it would be adorable if Bucky wasn’t the one trying to do the right thing.

 

“That doesn’t seem fair.  I didn’t mean… _Bucky_.  If the situation between us was different, I would have planned to bring you here.”

 

“But it’s not different between us.  Do you want it to be?”  Bucky asked the question, and for once in his life it mattered what the answer was.  If Steve told him that this was the point they’d have to part ways, Bucky would have to _leave_.  He wasn’t sure that was what he wanted.  The ice cream was amazing, for one thing, and Steve wasn’t so bad himself.  If Steve told him that he’d gotten attached to Bucky, walking away would be difficult.

 

It was a new feeling for him.  It made him frown back at Steve, which was a shame because both of them were sitting in the diner that meant something to Steve and having a difficult conversation.  If it turned out poorly, Steve would have bad memories of the place and Bucky might have trouble eating ice cream for at least a month, and he had a feeling he’d _need ice cream_.

 

“I think that I’m going to have to think about what I want soon,” Steve told him.  “I’ve had casual relationships before, but this doesn’t feel like one of them.”

 

No.  It didn’t.  And Bucky was struck by the realization that _it was his fault_.

 

Fuck.  What?

 

“I know,” Bucky agreed, nodding.  “That’s ok.”  He didn’t promise to do the same.  Bucky wasn’t going to look directly at what he was doing, even under fear of Steve leaving him behind. 

 

“Good, let’s just enjoy the ice cream, we’ll go have sex again, and once you’re gone I’ll consider what I want.  I knew in the beginning, but I thought that if it was just sex that it would be fine.  This doesn’t feel like it’s just about sex, and I know that’s my fault.”

 

God.

 

Fuck.

 

“It takes two people to get in a situation like this,” Bucky pointed out. 

 

Steve shrugged, unconvinced, and dunked his spoon is his ice cream cup. He made a surprised and betrayed sound when he found there was hardly any left.  He stared at Bucky, but Bucky just shrugged, shoulders tight and tense. 

 

“You can’t trust me around neglected ice cream.  It would have melted.”

 

“I’ve been thinking,” Bucky said once they left to go back to Steve’s place, tightening his grasp on Steve’s fingers as Steve moved to walk down to the underground subway platform.  “I shouldn’t go back with you.”

 

“All your stuff is in my bedroom.  You can at least take it.”  Steve was frowning at him, like Bucky had been talking about something completely different. Bucky knew why Steve had made the mental jump into assuming that he was running scared.

 

“No,” Bucky answered, waving that aside.  “I mean that it’ll be harder to hide my visit from my parents now that Becca has seen me.  I should go stop in for a few hours.  Just a few hours.”


	6. The one where Bucky yells at Steve on a Brooklyn sidewalk

Bucky looked down at the picture in his hands.  He had expected to find a yearbook class photo with the two of them standing on opposite sides of the picture from the way Steve had said ‘we knew each other in first grade’ and left it at that.  He hadn’t expected to find a picture of Steve sitting at a restaurant booth across from him, a smile on his young face.  Everyone was looking at the camera as Bucky posed in front of his cake, but Steve was looking at him, paying attention to the birthday boy.  It was a nice group picture with a lot of people Bucky couldn’t name if he was given a multiple choice quiz.

 

He recognized that boy in the man who stood in front of him, unembarrassed in his vulnerability as he told Bucky that it could never be just sex between them.  He recognized him in the man who took all the blame that the sex between them wasn’t as casual as it should be.  Bucky’s heart burned with it and he felt like a terrible person.  He was an asshole.

 

At least his only redemption was in the fact he’d told Steve the truth.  He’d put his own cards on the table.  If Steve had gotten attached, he’d gotten attached to a man who told him not to.

 

The way Steve as a child had looked at Bucky’s younger self, like he was wonderful and good, made Bucky acknowledge that he was neither of those things for Steve.   Steve _should_ walk away from him.  Bucky had no clue what he wanted, and he wasn’t going to change any time soon.  If Bucky was the person Steve thought he was, he’d make sure Steve left him before it was too difficult of a task for him to do.  Bucky should have let Steve leave that first night in his condo when Steve had outright stated why he needed to.

 

It made his heart hurt to think of how it would feel for Steve to walk away.

 

Bucky didn't mean to stay for supper, but Steve send him a text to remind him that he was off to the studio to film his appearance on the Tonight Show or the Late Show or whatever, and Bucky was on his own for the evening.  He had plenty of forewarning that this was going to happen, even before he'd left DC.

 

It was a good break.  He didn’t think he could look at Steve so soon after seeing a picture of his babyface.  The whole trip was not shaping up to be the 3 days of sex Bucky craved after months of not seeing Steve and only having his hand for company.

 

The one catch of staying for supper with his parents was that they made sure Becca was there for one of their rare family meals.  It was one of the cloying things about visiting home.  He hated that they treated time with him like a rare and special occurrence, and he definitely understood how hypocritical it was for him to complain about something that was his own damned fault.

 

"You actually felt guilty enough to come home. Maybe you're growing up," Becca mused, kicking her feet against the porch railing she was sitting on out behind the house.  She was sneaking a cigarette and Bucky was staying well out of way of the kitchen as his parents prepared supper together, acting like Bucky's visit was like feeding the President of the United States.

 

"I see the President of the United States more often than I see you," his mother had pulled as a response when he used that line on her. 

 

So Bucky had fled.

 

"I don't think so," Bucky responded.  "I kind of felt obligated after seeing you."

 

"A boyfriend," she mused.  "Actually feeling obligated to see the 'rents.  Sounds like adulthood to me."

 

"Whatever," Bucky grumbled, because he would always be thirteen when it came to Becca, and she would always be his ten-year-old sister.  "He's not my boyfriend.  He's a guy I enjoy having sex with."

 

Becca made a non-committal sound, unimpressed by Bucky's reasoning.  “Maybe not yet, but he looks at you like you’re amazing,” Becca told him.  “And you’ve always loved people who think you’re amazing.”

 

Bucky denied it. This was definitely not a conversation he needed to be having so soon after the conversation he had with Steve and the epiphany he had that he was going to let Steve go, no matter how tightly part of him wanted to hold on.  “I’m not in love with Steve.”

 

“I didn’t say anything about you being in love with him, you dumbass,” she pointed out, hands on her hips and clearly exasperated with him.  “Of course you’re not in love with him. But you’re still interested in him because he looks at you like you’re interesting.”

 

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Bucky pointed out.  “I’m still interested because _Steve_ is interesting.”  But, even after he made his point, he thought about that first morning, after Steve had left with the parting shots against Bucky’s personality, and he considered her point.  Maybe, now, Bucky kept coming back because Steve had drawn him in on his own merits, but at first it had been because Steve had looked at Bucky and seen him as someone Bucky wanted to be, not who Bucky was, and there was a small piece of his pride that took a hit when Steve left.

 

Steve had pulled Bucky in, and Bucky had let him.  He didn’t exactly regret it, but he could see how it happened.  Becca was wrong.  Bucky wasn’t still interested in Steve because he looked at Bucky like he was interesting.  Bucky was still interested in Steve because he stopped looking at Bucky like Bucky was interesting, and instead started looking at Bucky like Bucky was _ordinary._

 

That was a fucking asshole move.  Bucky was extraordinary.

 

"I'm not that predictable."

 

"You've been predictable with relationships up to this point," Becca argued.  "But now?  No, anything from the point where you decided to fly in for the weekend just for him isn't very Bucky at all.  It's romantic, for one thing.  You've always been very good at romancing someone without treating them like they're special at all.  This?  You’re treating him like he’s special.”

 

“It’s a sex-cation,” Bucky scoffed.  “It’s a vacation _but with sex_.”

 

“Last year you took a week off and enrolled in a 5-day training course for law enforcers.  You have no idea how to relax.  The fact that you didn’t volunteer to work during your long-weekend is astounding on it’s own, but then you schedule a sex-cation.  Three days of sex with one person.  Bucky,” she shook her head, saying his name like he was the dumbest person she knew.

 

Bucky could see her point, but it hadn’t been like that.  At all.  He’d tried to work the weekend but had been denied, and all his coworkers had been instructed to say no to his offers to switch.  His supervisor was becoming wise to his ways and was moving to intercept him – Bucky blamed Sam.

 

But, maybe he hadn’t tried very hard when it came to conning his coworkers into letting him trade weekends with them.  By that point he’d thought of Steve.  Bucky wasn’t sure if that was personal growth or not, but it was a fucking amazing idea. 

 

Or it would have been if his goddamn sister hadn’t walked into Steve’s favorite diner and messed everything up.

 

x.x.x.

 

Steve had given him a spare key, so Bucky was able to let himself into Steve's townhouse easily.  He wasn't sure if the ease of access offset how strange it felt to have Steve's key on his keychain.  He wanted to say that it did, but Bucky wasn't Steve's anything, so trusting him with a key should seem like a strange leap of faith.  Steve had just stared at him and then plucked his FBI badge out of his pocket. 

 

Bucky supposed, if hard-pressed, that made sense.

 

He was a trustworthy sort for everything except for matters of the heart.

 

"How was it?" Bucky asked, walking into the bedroom. He dumped his hoodie over a chair and dropped his phone on the nightstand before placing a knee on he mattress to crawl in beside Steve.

“Went fine. How was home?” Steve questioned, looking up from the script he was reading in bed.  He had half of the pillows behind his back and looked painfully domestic.  For a moment Bucky had no idea what he was doing.  He realized that he was in this man’s home, about to get into bed with him, and it wasn’t about sex. 

 

That wasn’t to say he wasn’t going to bang the fuck out of Steve.  Oh, no, sex was definitely a thing that was about to happen between them.  It was just that Bucky was peeling off his hoodie and sliding out of his pants without the sex being an immediate concern.

 

And he knew it.  And he did it anyway.

 

Maybe he was an adult.

 

“An obligation,” he grumbled and felt itchy in his own skin, pulling back the covers on not-Steve’s-side (but not Bucky’s either) of the bed.

 

“I’ve got another one for you,” Steve said, moving his script to the side and showing Bucky his erection.  Everything in Bucky’s head tilted sideways and then righted as Steve smirked at him.  “It’s been hard waiting for you to get back.”

 

Bucky snorted, climbing into bed and flopping back onto one of the pillows sticking out from behind Steve.  Steve put his hand into Bucky’s hair, his long fingers massaging Bucky’s scalp.  Bucky stretched out on the bed, burrowing his face into Steve’s side.  “I just want to stay here for a minute,” he grumbled.  “I’ll get to your dick soon.”

 

“Ok,” Steve said with a laugh, tightening his grasp around Bucky’s shoulders.  He rubbed along Bucky’s spine, and he could feel the stress leaving his shoulders.  He wasn’t sure what it said about him, but sitting in his childhood home listening to his parents say how happy they were to see him, and how much they wished he got home more often (and ‘Bucky, we feel spoiled seeing you twice before the season changed’) left him with more tension than facing down someone with a knife standing in front of him when Bucky was holding a long-ranged weapon.

 

Steve scooted down in bed until he was mostly on his back, his neck curled up in an angle that wouldn’t do him any favors long-term.  Bucky fell into the groove between Steve’s shoulder and arm, resting his head against Steve’s chest.  He could hear Steve’s steady heartbeat in his ear.  “When I was in high school there were certain expectations set in front of me of what I could do with my life.  Nothing like a lot of kids get,” he said, curling his fingers around the tight t-shirt Steve was wearing.  “I was expected to move on to get some kind of education after school, either college or vocational courses.  I was expected to meet a nice girl, or I guess guy, and move back to Brooklyn.  Get a house close to my parents’ place.  The relationship part was up for debate, but the other two weren’t.  I got my college degree because it fit my own goals, but I’ve been running from the other two for the last decade.  Every time I see them, they still treat me like they expect it to happen.  Like they think I’m sowing my wild oats and before I know it, I’ll be moving back.  They don’t understand that my career isn’t a phase and I’ve already put down roots.  Those roots just aren’t in Brooklyn anymore.”

 

“I’ve never known you not to make your own choices and know your own mind, even when it was inconvenient.  To you, and to the people around you.  There’s a strength of will to you, Buck, that most people spend their whole lives trying to find.”

 

It was on the tip of his tongue to remind Steve that he didn’t actually know Bucky, that an encounter or two as children didn’t give Bucky the shape of his life or his personality.  Bucky’s past was made up of more moments without Steve than it was with him.

 

Instead, Bucky rolled over and grabbed his phone from where he had dropped it on Steve’s nightstand, right next to the charger he plugged in on Friday night. He’d started to think of it as his side of the room, which was a dangerous thought to have. He opened his photos and handed it to Steve.  “I found this picture in mom’s photo album.  Took a picture of it because I thought you might want to see it.”

 

Steve made a humming noise in the back of his throat.  “You might have been my first crush,” he acknowledged.  “You were so cool to me.  I had this bully problem with these two kids you used to hang around with, and the moment they tried picking on me in front of you, you stepped in and stopped them.  I thought you hung the moon.”

 

“I do hang the moon, every night,” Bucky smirked.  “I’ll hang your moon right now.”

 

Steve snorted with mirth.  “That only half makes sense,” he pointed out, digging his fingers into Bucky’s side to make him squirm.

 

“Yeah, but it’s the half that is dirty, so it counts.”  Bucky leaned over and pressed his mouth right above Steve’s navel.  “I think you said something about obligations,” he said, looking up at Steve through his eyelashes.  He opened his mouth and licked his lips in a way that would normally look over-the-top if his chin wasn’t brushing against Steve’s clothed erection.  If the way Steve’s eyes went hot and he bit his lips was any indication, he got the message.  “Tell me,” Bucky continued, “do you want me to go slow again, draw it out until you’re begging me to stop?  Or do you want to fuck my throat until it’s raw?  Either way, I’ll go back to DC and everyone will be able to tell what I’ve been doing this weekend.  You just have to decide how you want that to happen.”

 

Considering the way Steve’s hips had twitched when Bucky had suggested fucking his mouth, Bucky knew what the answer was even before he pulled down Steve’s pajama bottoms.  He licked his lips again, this time in anticipation, before opening his mouth.

 

“Jesus, Bucky,” Steve said, and his hands tightened on the pillow behind his head as he arched into it.

 

x.x.x.

 

Bucky was on a sex-cation, and still felt like he couldn’t go anywhere without work following him.  It was his decision whether he wanted to make an issue of it when he spotted a pick-pocket on the subway car he and Steve were sitting in on the way to get food, but in those terms it wasn’t a decision at all.

 

Bucky would always do the right thing.

 

Even Steve had noticed, going tense when the thief’s hand had slipped into an open purse.  Bucky seethed at the incompetency of it all if civilians were easily spotting it.

 

“Hey,” Bucky said, standing and barring the way out.  “I suggest you hand me the wallet you just took and we won’t have to make this an issue.”

 

“What issue?”

 

The pick-pocket had a friend.  With a knife.

 

Goodie.  Bucky was regretting getting out of bed in the first place. For a sex-cation they were leaving the house too much, and Steve had a nice house. Perfect for relaxing and sex. Bucky deserved to spend some quality time in Steve’s Jacuzzi, Steve present or not.

 

“Seriously?” Bucky questioned in an unimpressed tone as the rest of the people in the car cringed away in that New Yorker way where it didn’t look like they moved at all.  It took him three seconds to disarm the kid and confiscate the knife.  All while holding a cup of coffee. 

 

Now he was going to have to do paperwork and make reports about what happened.  On his sex-cation.

 

“The issue of me being an FBI Agent.  Wallet.  Now.”

 

“This guy thinks he’s bulletproof or something,” one of the men sneered. 

 

He waited, tense, for one of them to pull a gun.  He hadn’t noticed one while watching them, but he knew better than assume that no one in the subway car had a concealed weapon.

 

After a beat, no one pulled a gun or any other kind of surprise weapon.

 

“Yeah, got a superhero complex, old man?”

 

Jesus Christ.  He was facing _children_.

 

Stupid little fucks. He wished nothing more than to be able to say that out loud, but he knew the situation would escalate quickly, if it hadn’t already.  Two against one.  They probably thought they could be a match for Bucky, even after witnessing how fast he’d taken the knife, with all the arrogance that came from thinking they were the most dangerous people in the car.  They had probably gotten away with stealing too often to blink at being challenged, cocky and painfully young.

 

And so stupid.

 

“No,” Steve answered, standing up as though his presence added to the weight of Bucky’s threat.  “But I do.”

 

Sadly enough, it did.

 

“Holy shit, it’s Captain America!”

 

Bucky _only just_ managed not to facepalm.

 

“Do you know who the real superheroes are?” Steve continued, and this was now verging on a soapbox rant just because some little punk had sassed back Bucky.  Bucky rolled his eyes in Steve’s direction, and he would put really good money down on knowing exactly what was about to be said.  “The real superheroes are people who put their lives on the line every day to stand up to bullies.  Including FBI Special Agent Barnes here, who asked you to give back the wallet, son.”

 

Jesus Christ.

 

He actually tacked son on the end of that sentence. 

 

Steve was such a fucking dork.  It was painful to be seen with him.

 

Bucky had never witnessed someone hand over their take as quickly as this guy did under the disapproving stare of Steve Rogers.  He didn’t think it was because the kid had listened to a word he said, either.  No one wanted to be a disappointment to Captain America, and, more aptly, everyone in Brooklyn wanted Steve’s autograph.

 

Steve obliged.

 

“For fucksakes, Steve,” Bucky said once they were off the train, had given their statements to the police, and Bucky had been forced to show his ID about 3 times while everyone just looked at Steve and accepted his involvement. Fucking Captain America to the rescue.  It would be all over the news.  Again.  Captain America saves the F. FBI stands by and watches.  “You shouldn’t have done that.”  It reminded him of the moment they met in the back room of the convention center, Steve already with a strategy that put his life in danger and Bucky witlessly going along with it.  Bucky knew that if he hadn’t stood up first, Steve wouldn’t have sat there and allowed a pickpocket to get away.  “How the fuck did you survive Brooklyn before me?”

 

Steve shrugged.  “Got in some fights,” he admitted, climbing the stairs.

 

“No shit,” Bucky answered, too angry to really appreciate Steve’s ass in front of him.  “You’re reckless with your own life. I can’t believe you punched a bomber in the face! And you just stood up in front of a little punk asshole who just had a weapon on him and sassed him!”

 

Steve paused, reaching street level.  Bucky knew he was too much of a seasoned New Yorker to be concerned by the sun after being underground, so it could only be in reaction to what he’d just said.  “Are we really having this conversation? You didn’t seem to care the last time beyond how it inconvenienced you and how you could use it to get in my pants.”

 

“I wasn’t the one who showed up with a fucking gift basket like it mattered that I thought well of you. You knew how much trouble I could have gotten into at work, and work is everything to me.  I cared that you inconvenienced me to the point where you endangered both of us, but I didn’t care enough about you to call you on pulling stupid, reckless acts that could get you kill.  Do you even realize that you put both of us in danger?  You just put me in a position where I had to protect both of us if it came down to it.  If you had just stayed seated I could have handled it.”

 

“I’m never going to just stay seated,” Steve yelled back, crossing his arms over his chest.  “That’s not who I am.  I speak up when I see injustices.  I stand for people who can’t stand for themselves.  I don’t roll over for bullies.”

 

Bucky couldn’t say ‘maybe you should’ and not be a hypocrite, not with his job.

 

“I worried about you, too,” Steve said simply, and Bucky felt most of his ire deflating.  “I couldn’t let you do it alone, even if my life was in danger.”

 

It left Bucky reeling because there was so much wrong with the sentiment, but at the same time there was a part of him reacting to it like it was the nicest thing he’d ever heard.  “Where’s this restaurant,” he ended up asking in a gruff tone, knowing he was still frowning.  People were giving them wide-berth on the sidewalk, and at least three people had their cell phones out taking videos.

 

_He just wanted a sex-cation._

 

They’d left Steve’s house walking together, shoulders brushing, but after the pickpocket incident they were out of sync, Steve walking ahead of Bucky, frowning and thinking.

 

 _You chose me,_ Bucky thought, looking at Steve framed by the entrance of the park.  There was rain in his hair and his boots were covered in a gross layer of mud and street sludge.  The early May wind was blowing around him, ugly and sharp, but carrying the scent of new plants and a hint of warmth.  He inhaled as he took a step towards Steve, and it felt like his entire chest was swelling, expanding, until he was forced to breathe out.  The feeling persisted like the disquiet after a nightmare, an unsettling sensation of change.

 

Steve observed him with an impatient expression as Bucky stopped in the middle of the sidewalk to look at him.  He didn’t know what his expression was telegraphing to Steve, but it probably wasn’t the right kind of expression to go with this feeling.

 

 _This feeling._   The words finally struck Bucky with what they meant and he paused, his fingers reaching for Steve’s hand and tugging, drawing him into stilling next to Bucky or letting go.

 

“What?” Steve questioned, his eyebrows raised in confusion as he looked around him and then gave Bucky a sarcastic head tilt.  “Lost?  It’s been a while since you’ve been in Brooklyn.”  Steve was mocking him.  "You're basically a tourist."

 

 _Fuck_ , Bucky thought.  _What an asshole_.  It was definitely Bucky's type.  He felt like his whole body was smiling in response to Steve, swaying into his space.  He felt a lot less terrified by the sensation than he probably should. 

 

"The restaurant is a few blocks over," Steve told him as Bucky reached for him, tucking his fingers into Steve's belt hoops so he wouldn't be able to shake Bucky's grasp easily.  He smiled back at Bucky, his hands curving around Bucky's waist easily.  Bucky tucked his coffee against Steve's bicep with one hand as he moved the way he felt, swaying into Steve's space like getting close to him was easy.

 

Physically, it was.

 

He leaned up to kiss him, wanting nothing more than to kiss Steve Rogers on a Brooklyn sidewalk, everyone around them be damned. 

 

x.x.x.

 

Steve’s head was resting back against Bucky’s shoulder.  Bucky nosed along the line of Steve’s jaw, placing his mouth up against his hot skin.  Steve hummed in encouragement when Bucky’s teeth scraped along the five o’clock shadow there.  He was moving his ass slowly up and down Bucky’s cock, an unhurried grinding motion each time he hit the end.  It was what lazy morning sex should be, hot and sweaty beneath the covers.

 

Bucky adjusted his grasp on Steve’s hips, helping to guide him into a sharp forward angle that left Steve gasping and clutching at Bucky’s wrists, fingers wrapping around to give himself leverage to do it again.

 

Bucky felt like he couldn’t breathe, his heart beating a resounding tattoo in his chest that made it feel like his lungs were constricting to give it more space.  Steve was the only thing he could see, his only focus, everything else secondary to the way he tasted, how he sounded as he panted beside Bucky’s ear. 

 

When Bucky came, it wasn’t explosive but it was quietly overwhelming, a thing that had been building for what seemed like hours. 

 

“Oh Christ,” Bucky said, his head falling against pillow.  His vision still felt black and spotty, like getting up was out of the question, but so was rolling away from Steve.  Steve’s weight next to him was a grounding presence, and the way Steve was smiling was pleasant too.  Bucky might pass out.  From sex.  “It’s getting better.  How is it getting better?”

 

Steve’s hand cupped the back of his neck and Bucky stared at him in wonder for a moment before Steve moved forward and kissed him.


	7. The one where Bucky is a trainwreck of emotions and invites Steve to DC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: semi-nsfw image in this chapter.

[ ](http://maichan808.tumblr.com/post/149605865128)

 

Bucky returned to work on Monday with what felt like a bounce in his step. He wasn’t typically prone to exhaustion, but he felt relaxed and happy in a way he usually didn’t after a long weekend.  Maybe there was something to be said for sexcations, even ones that had him travelling to Brooklyn.  Maybe it was just the act of stepping out of his comfort zone that did it, but he doubted he would have put up with the location and staying over for 3 nights for anyone short of Steve.

 

Bucky was trained not to react to certain stimuli.  A person jumping out at him with a gun?  He didn’t visibly flinch.

 

Steve’s face staring at him from the ceiling above his desk?  Bucky flinched.  He visibly recoiled.  He rolled back a full floor tile in his office chair.

 

“HA!” Clint crowed from the desk across from him, showing Bucky a video on his phone.   Clint and Bucky had a few things in common – if preferring long-range weapons was a thing you could have in common with someone.  But then, they also had the same kind of long-range humor (as in: it was best enjoyed at a distance). “Your face. Seeeending to everyone... aww, I think I just deleted it.”

 

“How did you assholes get that up there?” Bucky asked, staring at the life-sized cardboard cutout of Captain America hanging from the ceiling. He’d been expecting it.  Months ago.  And maybe if it had shown up before he knew Steve it would have bugged him as a reminder that Captain America had fooled him.  Now it was difficult to look at it and not think it was two-dimensional compared to the real thing. “That’s a health hazard.”

 

“I anchored it myself.  The only thing it’s in hazard of is shaking your unflappable confidence.  Definitely worth the effort.” 

 

“If it’s unflappable it’s not going to be shaken by some hot guy staring down at me.”

 

“We know how much you hate him,” TK pointed out, popping up from his own cubical.  “It’s gotta be rough.  Usually you’d have already tapped that and moved on.”

 

“I have tapped that,” Bucky returned in a sarcastic tone, leaning back in his seat so he could look up at Steve as he said it.  “I just didn’t feel the necessity of giving everyone details.”  He looked over, eyes narrowed in threat.

 

“Whatever,” TK retorted, witty to his dying breath.

 

“Huh,” Clint said.  “You actually don’t care.  I thought the Captain America thing would bother you for at least two years.  You seem the type to have a long memory.”

 

Bucky sat up straight, facing his computer.  He almost expected to jiggle his mouse and find his desktop background to be changed to a picture of Steve punching out the bomber or something.  He was almost disappointed when it was the same generic background it always was.  “Maybe if you’d put it up there when it first happened.”

 

“It was back-ordered,” Clint grumbled.

 

x.x.x.

 

Bucky took a deep breath, running his hands through his hair as he tried to compose himself.  There was a deep bruise on his back that he could feel down to the bone.  It had been a bullet that would have gone through to his lung, a quarter inch shy of his heart, if he hadn’t been wearing his flak jacket.

 

The worst part wasn’t that he’d almost been shot.  There were multiple points in Bucky’s career where he’d been almost shot, or actually shot.  No, it was that afterwards he’d been scared about dying, that he actually felt the bruise left by the impact of the bullet and _worried_ instead of brushing it off.

 

“You’re not usually this tense about being shot,” Sam observed.  “I used to worry about your mental state until I realized you don’t have a death wish, you just accept the hazards of the job.  Do you need to get laid?  That usually relaxes you. Not that I’m offering, just to be clear.”

 

“That might be the problem,” Bucky said with feigned casualness, forcing himself not to frown.  He did feel a lot more tense than usual.  “I only see Steve semi-regularly.”

 

Sam paused, like he hadn’t expected that.  “Hate-fucking turn out not to be good for your stress levels?”

 

Bucky knew Sam was being sarcastic, but he wasn’t wrong.  “You know how sometimes you’re so into someone that you feel that tightening of arousal when they’re around?  Like they’re doing something that shouldn’t be sexual, but then you think about what their legs feel like clutched around your back and you’re getting a semi for no reason other than the fact that you want them.  All the time?”

 

“Sure,” Sam responded, but he looked like he was majorly regretting asking.

 

“That’s the way I feel around him,” Bucky said, and he could feel himself smiling.  “Only sometimes the feeling is also here.”  Bucky made a fist and pressed it against the center of his chest.

 

“Holy shit,” Sam breathed, eyes wide.  “Holy shit.”

 

Sam did not get surprised easily.  He’d seen it maybe three times the entire time he’d known him. Sam hadn’t even looked surprised when Bucky _was shot_.  It really said a lot about what he thought about Bucky and relationships.  “I know.  I don’t know what to do with that yet.”

 

“But you understand it, right?” Sam questioned, leaning forward and surveying Bucky carefully. 

 

“Of course I do.  There’s not really any way to mistake it.”  He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the back of the seat.  “I’m not sitting here thinking I have strange heartburn.  I know what it means when looking at him makes my chest do the thing,” he said, rubbing at his breastbone over his heart.  “My sister is going to be so smug.  She told me weeks ago and I brushed her off.”

 

“I thought you’d be a runner,” Sam mused, obviously not done talking about it like Bucky was.

 

He wasn’t going to ask.

 

“A runner?” he questioned, cracking his eyes open so he could stare at Sam.

 

“You know,” Sam responded, waving his hand in a way that held little meaning to Bucky.  “Someone who thinks they may feel emotions towards someone, so they run away.”

 

“Ahh,” Bucky responded, closing his eyes.  “Nahhh.”  Bucky wasn’t sure why that was.  He didn’t think it had anything to do with Steve, really, so that meant it could only be himself.  He was the one who wanted to stay, who didn’t look at all the little signs that he was getting deeper and deeper into his feelings for another person and wanted to flee. 

 

Maybe it had everything to do with Steve.

 

Plus, if Bucky ran, Steve would never bother to chase him. Bucky had been very clear on what Steve should expect from him, and Steve was waiting for Bucky to walk away from him. He’d slam the door on the chapter of his life with Bucky as a lover and he wouldn’t look back.  That would be the smart move for him to make, and Steve Rogers was no fool.  It made Bucky’s heart ache to think of it.  If Bucky ran, no one would be left to fight to make them work. There were a lot of things Bucky was brave enough to take a stand against, including himself. “Why would I run from Steve Rogers?  He could have the world but he picked me.”

 

“Bucky,” Sam started in his patent soothing tone.

 

“Or, I want him to pick me.  I don’t have everything sorted out in my brain as well as it sounds like I do.”

 

Sam snorted.  “Barnes, you sound like a mess.”

 

“Well I feel worse.  Emotions are stressful.”  He snorted.  “I’d rather take a bullet.”

 

“Sure,” Sam agreed.  “Especially when the last emotional epiphany you had was in 2003.”

 

x.x.x.

 

If Bucky knew one thing in his line of work it was that practice was the key to not allowing a skill to go rusty.  There were a lot of things he was decent at without trying, but he still put in those hours to become better – possibly even the best in the field. 

 

Bucky leaned back in his seat, staring up at the cardboard cut-out of Steve’s face.  Seeing Steve’s face above him wasn’t exactly a rare sight.  “I might have feelings for you,” he tested out, speaking to the frozen, semi-pained smile on Captain America’s face.  “That’s exactly how I feel about it too.”

 

x.x.x.

 

It wasn’t that contact between the two of them had slowed down since Bucky’s visit, but Bucky went into each one worried Steve would start his part of the conversation with “we need to talk.”  He was expecting it at any point, and it was worse wondering if it was the kind of conversation Steve was waiting to have in person.

 

Bucky needed to see him again anyway, even if he was willingly walking into the final time between them.

 

“So I have to take a date to this thing and I wanted to give you first dibs,” Bucky said.  His phone was propped up on the kitchen counter as he broke open his takeout carton.  He’d gone for mostly healthy variants of noodles, as healthy as he could get from takeout, with the exception of the deep fried egg rolls sitting in a paper bag, grease starting to make the paper translucent.  Bucky had his vices, the things he couldn’t resist.

 

He was talking to one of them right now on Skype.

 

“I’m sorry, what?” Steve questioned, staring at Bucky in disbelief.

 

“Do you want to call shotgun on being my plus one or not?” Bucky questioned, leaning against the counter and eating the noodles with a fork like a huge heathen.  He’d grown up in a multi-cultural melting pot and knew how to use chopsticks before he could write, thank you very much.  He’d just forgotten to pick any up and thought he had a package at home.  He didn’t.  Steve was so taken off guard by Bucky he wasn’t even calling him on the fork thing.

 

“You do realize you’re asking me on a date, right?” Steve looked suspicious, like he actually thought Bucky wasn’t aware of the concession he was making.

 

“I thought it would be nice,” he muttered.  “Never mind, I’ll find someone else to go with me.”

 

“I’ll go,” Steve promised, and he was leaning forward now so that all Bucky could see on the small phone screen was his forehead and an eye.  What a dork.  “Seriously.  I’ll fly down for the day, but I can’t stay for the entire weekend.”

 

“I’m not asking you for the weekend,” Bucky pointed out, but even he could tell he sounded sullen.  It had kind of been implied, even he could acknowledge that.  He’d like to see Steve for more than a few hours.

 

“Well would you say no if I told you that I was going to be there for it?”

 

“I wouldn’t say no to sex with you, you know that,” Bucky told him around a mouthful of food, pointing his fork at Steve.  “But technically I’m on call that weekend, so I could have to grab my kit and go at any point.  I find just not putting another person in my condo is always a smart decision when I have to kick them out with five minute’s notice.”

 

Steve bit his lip and gave him a sarcastic expression full of knowing.  “How many times did you use that line on someone just for an excuse for a quick escape if you needed it?”

 

“You make me out to be a total asshole, Steve,” Bucky said, grabbing one of the eggrolls and taking a vicious bite.  “I only did it maybe five times.”

 

“Ah huh.”

 

“It’s not that easy manufacturing a phone call in the middle of the night,” Bucky pointed out.  “Most times my wingman fell asleep and I was left waiting for hours for morning so I could legitimately use the work excuse.”

 

“I think that you could have figured something else out.”  Steve sounded judgmental, like he expected better from Bucky.  Not better morally.  Better in terms of cleverness.

 

Fuck.  Steve was great.

 

Bucky grinned.  “I don’t need to.  I’ve figured out a system.  Any time I start to feel so claustrophobic to have someone else in my bed I initiate round two – or three – with them.  No matter what happens then, it works in my favor.  They either leave or spread their legs.”

 

Steve was silent for a moment, observing him.  “You realize that you pulled that move on me?”

 

“Oh yeah,” Bucky smiled like it was a fond memory, and it was.  “You opened up so easily for me.  Couldn’t get enough, wanted it so badly, even on that first night.  And I slept like a baby afterwards and didn’t have to shove you out of bed, so we both got something out of it.”

 

“I don’t know why anyone would turn down round two with you,” Steve told him in a flirtatious tone that Bucky could tell was just a tad too over the top for Steve to be genuine.

 

Bucky wanted to kiss him.  He felt like having Steve’s face in front of him without the ability to lean forward and feel that plump bottom lip between his was a travesty and a huge waste of the pout Steve was giving him, like he knew, even over the phone’s webcam, that Bucky had focused on his mouth.  “Well you certainly haven’t yet,” Bucky pointed out and then laughed.  “We’re on round, what, now?” he continued, licking his lips and then biting his teeth on the right side of his bottom lip as he mentally tallied how many times he’d had Steve.  “Thirteen? Fourteen?  Does phone sex count?  Eventually you’ll leave instead of choosing sex.” 

 

And prove Bucky’s theory right.

 

“Eventually I’ll have to,” Steve responded honestly.  “You know that, right?  I have been thinking about the conversation we had in the diner.”

 

“Yeah,” Bucky answered, and it hurt to say, but he thought Steve deserved for Bucky not to joke about this.  “I know.”

 

“I’ll see you on Saturday,” Steve promised, and there was something on his face, something that made him hesitate for a moment before ending the call.  Bucky’s pulse was racing because he knew that what Steve wasn’t saying was that this weekend was probably it.  It would be the last time.  It had to be, because Steve was the type of person to look at Bucky at the age of seven like he was _amazing_.  It was stupid for either of them to agree to terms where emotions didn’t get involved.

 

And Bucky wasn’t so selfish that he’d refuse to let Steve leave when all he was doing was trying not to get hurt.  Bucky understood protecting yourself, he just wished Steve didn’t have to do it against him.

 

“I might want that too,” he said quietly to the black screen on his phone.  But he knew, with a heavy feeling in his chest, that when the time came to say the words out loud to Steve that he’d find them impossible to say. 

 

Bucky Barnes could take a bullet in the chest for someone and rely on his flak jacket to save him, but he was a goddamn coward when it came to matters of the heart.

 

x.x.x.

 

Saturday afternoon saw Bucky doing his typical version of grocery shopping, buying a ready-made meal from his favorite deli and picking up enough food so the two of them would be able to eat sandwiches for a few meals if necessary.  He was just about to go through the front door of his condo complex when a motorcycle pulled up next to him. 

 

Bucky had enough necessary danger in his life, he didn’t need a vehicle that was 27 times more dangerous than a car.  And Bucky had been _shot_ recently. 

 

So he wasn’t paying much attention when the driver pulled off his helmet.  “You know, I thought you’d be the type to check out hot guys in leather riding a motorcycle.”

 

Bucky paused.  Looked.  “Well,” he said, dragging his eyes over Steve.  He did look good in that jacket of his.  Strong men on dangerous machines weren’t necessarily his type beyond the fact that most people were his type, but he was discovering new things about himself.  Because _Steve?_ Straddling a bike? Devastating.  “I am when they turn out to be you.”

 

Steve’s eyes crinkled in amusement.   “Do you have somewhere I can park?”

 

Bucky had a few suggestions.  “Yeah,” he said, tossing Steve his keyfob.  “43 and 44 are my parking spaces.  You’ll have to walk back up and meet me, my spare key is on my hallway console table,” he said, smirking around the word.

 

Steve grinned at him, a shared memory.  “Sure,” he said, shoving his helmet back on his head even though he was just travelling a few yards and then down to ramp to the underground parkade.  Bucky liked a man who prioritized safety over convenience.  "Be right back.”

 

Bucky might have missed him arrive, but he certainly watched Steve drive away.

 

x.x.x.

 

“You look so good in a suit,” Steve said, dragging his hands down the length of Bucky’s back before quickly squeezing his ass.  “We don’t have time for me to show you just how well this look does it for me, do we?”

 

“Nope,” Bucky answered, leaning forward and kissing Steve again.  “You can show me later,” he promised, looking in the mirror and readjusting his tie.  “I do have to point out that I look good in everything.”

 

“And out of it,” Steve agreed.  And it would be a cheesy line if it wasn’t for the way Steve made it sound like honesty.  “You’re a beautiful man, Bucky Barnes.”

 

Bucky grinned and leaned forward, mouth brushing against the corner of Steve’s.  He wanted to reach forward and grab Steve by the lapel and kiss him, but they didn’t have time for where that would lead.  Steve had already used Bucky’s iron once to get rid of the creases.  “Has anyone ever told you that you’re pretty enough to be in the movies?” Bucky questioned, grabbing his keys.

 

“No,” Steve answered, feigning surprise and a coquettish sense of delight.  “Me? In movies?  Oh, sir, you flatter me.  I’d do anything to make that happen.”

 

“You’re a sarcastic shit,” Bucky announced as he locked the door behind Steve. 

 

“Sarcastic?  I thought we were role playing.”  Steve gave him this look that was a semi-dare, like he had been intentionally a hundred percent sarcastic, but now that he’d said the words, he was dropping the gauntlet on the floor to see if Bucky picked up his challenge.

 

Bucky inhaled in surprise, aroused at the idea. The whole of the concept flashed into his brain, and he thought of Steve pretending to be the naïve little starlet looking to get a big break on his knees. Oh holy shit.  “This can’t happen now,” he said, and had no idea whether he was talking to Steve or his cock.

 

The way Steve smirked, looking pleased with himself, told Bucky that he knew exactly what Bucky was talking about.

 

x.x.x.

 

Bringing Steve to a work fundraiser was – Bucky hadn’t thought it out very well.  When Steve was with Bucky, he was just Steve, he was the guy who’d accidentally convinced Bucky that he was backup when they first met, but he was also the guy who’d went with Bucky’s heavy-handed seduction like he was unwilling to stop it.  He was the man who suggested they go out for ice cream after Bucky had spent an hour worshipping his cock and his voice sounded like he had pneumonia, and he’d brought him to his family’s favorite diner instead of anywhere else in Brooklyn.  Steve was the person who sulked when Bucky pointed out why his favorite baseball team was going to lose this year, and who drove up in a motorcycle expecting to be checked out.

 

Steve, to everyone else, was Steve Rogers, a semi-known actor.

 

“Do you have some kind of special cock or something?” TK questioned, looking Bucky up and down and talking around Steve like he wasn’t there.  “You get a different woman or man every weekend, and then you manage to score an actor.  Have you fucked your way through all the attractive people you’ve saved?”

 

“I saved the President once,” Bucky reminded him, but didn’t say anything to indicate whether that was a confirmation or denial.  “And it’s not like that,” he continued, tucking his hand around Steve’s elbow.

 

On paper, outlined in stark facts, what was between him and Steve was exactly like what TK said it was, but Bucky would not listen to anyone try to tell Steve that he was just another number added to Bucky’s sexual head count. TK’s opinion on the matter was unwelcome and so misinformed it was stupid.

 

“Sure,” TK agreed in an obnoxious tone, slapping Bucky on the shoulder and winking at him as he sauntered away.

 

Bucky watched him go, tense with fury.  Steve reached out and grasped Bucky’s hand, pulling him onto the dance floor with a surprising amount of practice and ease.  “What was that?” he questioned.

 

“Nothing,” Bucky answered, and knew he was lying.  He couldn’t say how he knew that it was a lie, because he had no idea what was going on in his head, except that.  It wasn’t nothing.  “Look, let’s just have fun tonight, ok?”

 

Steve shrugged in return.  He didn’t seem to notice Sam staring at the two of them all evening like he was waiting for Bucky to have an emotional breakdown surrounded by coworkers and politicians, and for that Bucky was grateful.

 

The benefit of going to an invitation-only charity gala was that there wasn’t a heavy press presence in the building.  In DC, there were always at least three similar events going on at the same time, all of them garnering mention of a few sentences in a Current Events column somewhere.

 

Bucky hadn’t realized that he’d been worried about there being another possibility until he saw that there wasn’t.  His alerts on Steve weren’t giving him anything to even hint that Steve was in DC, but it just took one person recognizing him to change that.

 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky breathed against Steve’s shoulder.  “I didn’t consider how selfish asking you to come with me is when the world has no idea that you date men.”

 

“I’ll come out as bi,” Steve answered, and it sounded like a promise, but it shouldn’t be one for Bucky.  “I would have already if we were doing more than _having fun_.  I think I might anyway, so I can be open and transparent about the next person I date.”

 

Bucky felt like he’d been kicked in the stomach.  No.  Bucky had been kicked in the stomach multiple times in his life, the last ending with bruised ribs that aggravated him for weeks afterwards.  This was worse. 

 

“Sorry,” Steve said, misreading Bucky’s expression.  He didn’t sound sorry at all.  He sounded bitter and frustrated.  “I’m aware that we’re not technically dating.”

 

 _We could be,_ Bucky’s brain whispered and it was entirely aimed at how dumb Bucky was at keeping this man at arm’s length.  Bucky placed his forehead on Steve’s shoulder, resting it there.  He couldn’t say the words out loud, paralyzed with the fear that it wasn’t what Steve wanted.  He’d said that Bucky wasn’t the type of person he could get attached to, and Bucky knew that he hadn’t changed that.

 

But, what Bucky feared worse than that was that Steve would finally have enough of Bucky and walk out the door thinking that Bucky was indifferent to seeing him go. 

 

“Are you ok?” Steve questioned, pulling Bucky back far enough so he could look at his face.  Bucky looked at Steve’s kind eyes, those aggravating eyes that were capable of deep levels of sarcasm, wit, and fury, but never malice.  Steve wouldn’t deliberately hurt Bucky, but he was capable of hurting him in a million different ways and that was far more frightening of a prospect.  “Bucky?” Steve said, and he looked concerned that Bucky wasn’t answering him.

 

“I’m fine,” Bucky answered him in a cheerful tone, shaking himself out of the mood he was in.  “I want to bring you somewhere.”

 

x.x.x.

 

They walked into Bucky’s favorite deli wearing suits, and they didn’t even stand out.  Bucky rarely ate in the restaurant, but he walked over to take a seat, waving at the person behind the counter.  Steve joined him, picking up the menu and scanning it.

 

“There’s something here I want you to taste,” Bucky told him.

 

Steve took one bite of the lasagna Bucky ordered him and his eyebrows lifted in recognition. 

 

“You know all of my secrets now,” Bucky said, taking a sip of his wine and watching Steve from across the table.  There was a candle to set the mood, and the deli smelled of olive oil, bread, and garlic covered by a heavier scent of the proprietor’s lavender perfume.  “At least the ones I use on my dates.”

 

“I think your success has very little to do with the tricks you use.  They’re not entirely deplorable, you know.  So what if your lasagna wasn’t handmade by you?”

 

“That’s how I see it,” Bucky answered.  “No one wants to eat something I made, especially on a first date.  But the staging – it was enough to piss you off.”

 

“I was pissed off at myself.”  Steve lowered his eyes to his meal for a moment, and the lighting cast shadows over his cheekbones.  “I knew what you were doing.  I didn’t hear you make any promises or assurances, but I fell for it anyway.  I wanted you.  I wanted to know what it was like – the infamous Bucky Barnes.  Barnes family?  Upstanding third generation Brooklyn family.  The prodigal son, good at everything he tries – and you can tell the ones who are remembering your sports glory days over the ones thinking of something else from the way they say it.  Your reputation is an innuendo in itself, and I’ve heard it said next to your name since the summer I visited as a teenager.  I may as well have been one of those people who walk up to you on the street and asked if you’re down to fuck.”

 

“Did I live up to expectation?” Bucky asked with a morbid sort of curiosity.  He’d thought that in the time since he’d been in Brooklyn that his reputation would have disappeared, would have been replaced by the honor he brought to the neighborhood that time he shook the president’s hand, or even by giving them someone new to talk about – someone like Steve making it big and then moving back, which according to everyone in the corner of Brooklyn he grew up in, was the right way to live your life.

 

“Bucky,” Steve said with exasperation.  There was a flush across his cheekbones that wasn’t exactly an answer, but it also was.  “Yes.”

 

Bucky grinned, wide and dirty like he knew that even if he didn’t open his mouth it was still a promise.

 

“I think you’re at your best right now,” Steve continued, leaning closer to Bucky.  “You’re good because you know how to move and you’ve picked up general knowledge about how to do it well, but now you’ve learned what I like and you’ve been honing that skill with both a sense of acuity and a healthy dose of competition with yourself to improve.  That’s what does it, isn’t it?  You always need to do better.  It’s not enough to make me feel good if you can make me scream.”

 

“I’ve never actually made you scream,” Bucky pointed out, just to be contrary.

 

“No?” Steve questioned mildly.  “Must have been someone else.”

 

“You’re seducing me right now, you’re aware of that, right?”

 

“Bucky.  I don’t need to seduce you.  The only reason I’m here is so we can both have phenomenal sex.”

 

“It’s not the only reason,” Bucky answered, lowering his gaze to his plate.  “I like being around you.”

 

Steve didn’t know what to do with the compliment if the way the flush appeared on his cheekbones again, from more than the wine and the arousal of remembering Bucky’s hands on his skin as he seduced Steve that first evening.  He didn’t seem to know what to do with Bucky saying something nice to him, which was a shame on Bucky’s part.  He complimented Steve all the time, but there was a difference between praise and attraction, and a simple statement like ‘I like being around you.’  Steve’s smile was rueful and self-effacing as he muttered “I like being around you too” at Bucky like he wasn’t sure what the reception would be.

 

Bucky never wanted to watch that happen again.  He wanted to be able to say things to Steve with honesty and for Steve not to doubt the truth to them or doubt that Bucky would receive hearing it in return.

 

He’d fucked up.  Right from the beginning he’d fucked up.

 

He just.  There was a part of him that knew that this was the end in Steve’s mind.  Steve had reached the end of being able to walk away.  Bucky could feel it coming like an itch under his skin at the way Steve’s hand lingered on his arm like it was the last time they might touch, or the way Bucky caught him looking at him over the deli table, like he was memorizing the way Bucky looked in that particular moment.

 

Steve would walk away, and Bucky was a fucking coward when it came to love because it was easier to let him, to think that maybe it was better to let him go than to expose Steve to the mess of uncertainty in his brain.

 

Steve finally brought it once they were back in Bucky’s bedroom getting ready for bed.  “I believe in being honest and direct,” Steve told him, unbuttoning his shirt.  “I’m falling in love with you and it’s going to be a problem very soon if we keep going the way we are.  You’re everything I’m looking for in a long-term commitment, except for the fact that you will never have a long-term relationship.  I don’t think it’s fair to me to stay, and it’s definitely not fair to you for the inevitable blame I’ll want to put on your shoulders for not being able to give me what I need.  I think we have to recognize that this is drawing to an end.”

 

“That’s…” Bucky started to say, but the words got caught in his throat, because he didn’t know.  He didn’t know how it felt to want to commit to someone and he didn’t know if he could ever actually do it.  It was too fast, and he needed more time. “Yeah,” he continued in a soft tone.  “I understand.”

 

No.  Those weren’t the words he should say.  Fuck.

 

“Buck…” Steve was frowning at him, observing closely.  “We’ve known for weeks it was coming to this. For a while it was nice to just go with what felt good.  It was more enjoyable to have you around for sex than it was to question it, but I can’t do that anymore.  You’re like a bad habit I don’t know if I want to give up.”

 

“Well that’s flattering,” Bucky said with sarcasm.

 

“It wasn’t meant to be flattering.”

 

“I wish it had taken longer,” he said with honesty.  “Can I kiss you, or would you rather just sleep?”

 

Steve grabbed him by his shirt front, bringing him closer.  There was a voice in the back of his head screaming at him that he was being a coward, and it sounded a lot like his sister’s judgmental dulcet tones.  She’d be the one who would be the most likely to notice the next time he made excuses not to go to New York.  He thought about the fact that if he ran away there would be no one left to fight for them.

 

He’d been right.

 

Steve kissed him, and Bucky slid his shirt off his shoulders, pressing a kiss to the hinge of Steve’s jawline.  “Steve,” Bucky said, breaking away.  “Maybe… just not yet.  You said soon, does soon have to mean now?”

 

“It means soon,” Steve responded, kissing Bucky again.  “Not tonight.”

 

“I want you to stay with me.”

 

“I’m too tired to drive all the way back,” Steve pointed out.  “I’m going to have to.”

 

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed, kissing him again and hoping that it was enough of a distraction for Steve not to realize that it wasn’t what Bucky had meant. 

 

He’d just have to make sure that the sex was the best Steve ever had.  It was one thing he was phenomenal at. 

 

But Steve was the one who pushed Bucky back on to the bed and took him apart with his mouth until Bucky was shaking, his skin sticking to his sheets with sweat.  Steve was the one who fucked him, slow and sweet in a way that obviously wasn’t fucking at all.

 

Steve was the one who was preparing to let go, and once they’d both came, satiated and out of breath, Bucky was the one who curled his arm around Steve’s waist and pressed his nose into Steve’s hair and fell asleep breathing him in.

 

x.x.x.

 

Steve kissed him lightly and Bucky’s eyes fluttered open, taking in the sight of Steve looking down at him. He felt his heart in his throat, immediately knowing that these were his final moments.  The next time he saw Steve, they’d have to awkward-wave at each other from across a street. “If I don’t leave now I’ll miss my interview,” Steve said.  “I’ll see you.”

 

“You don’t have to go yet,” Bucky grumbled, grabbing the front of Steve’s shirt and drawing him down for another kiss.  “Take a flight later and leave the bike, you can come back for it.  Just.  Stay.”

 

“My work schedule tells me differently,” Steve answered in amusement. “Besides, what could we do that wasn’t covered last night?”

 

“Sleep,” Bucky grumbled, pulling a face at Steve.  He kept his grasp tight on Steve’s shirt when he tried to stand to pull away from him, and obstinately didn’t let go when Steve tried to get him to open his hand.

 

“I feel fine,” Steve answered, but he sat on the bed for a moment, caging Bucky in as he leaned over him.  “You don’t want me to go?” he mused, a smile playing on his lips. 

 

“Why would I ever want you to go?” Bucky questioned, sitting up and kissing Steve.  “Who the fuck would be stupid enough to want that?”

 

Steve laughed because he thought Bucky was joking.  He brushed his fingers over the center of Bucky’s chest, right where Bucky would aim his rifle if he wanted to hit the heart.  Maybe Steve understood more than he let on, because he smiled at Bucky and then stood.  “I’ll call you when I get home,” he promised, grabbing the handle of his suitcase and aiming for the door of Bucky’s bedroom.

 

Bucky sat up to watch him leave.  “I’ll be here waiting,” he said in a loud voice, listening as Steve walked down the hallway.  “Literally in this spot because you wore me the fuck out last night.  So I’ll still be sleeping when you get home!” he ended with, and smiled because he could hear Steve snort with mirth before opening the front door.

 

Bucky was a fucking idiot.

 

Bucky was out of bed before he really understood what he was doing, following Steve out the doorway.  “Bucky? What?” Steve started to say in surprise when Bucky ducked through the elevator doors at the last moment.  They started opening again, sensing him stepping through them, but Bucky was already inside, backing Steve up against the wall.  Steve went easily, his fingers tightening in the railing as Bucky moved in for a kiss.  There was nothing gentle about the movement as he pressed Steve back against the elevator and kissed him like it was the last time they would ever kiss.

 

“Don’t leave,” he murmured against Steve’s mouth.  Steve’s hand was grasping the bare skin of his back and Bucky placed his hand over the one Steve still had on the railing.  He squeezed, more gentle than his kiss was.  When he pulled back, Steve’s mouth was red and the skin on his chin was abraded from Bucky’s facial hair.  He was staring at Bucky like, for once, Bucky had actually shocked him into speechlessness.  “Go make your interview,” he said with a nod.  “But don’t leave.”

 

… me.

 

It was silent, but Bucky knew that Steve heard it anyway because he nodded and tucked his chin over Bucky’s shoulder, holding him for a moment as the elevator doors swung open in the lobby. 

 

“Okay, Bucky,” Steve answered, and let go.  “I can do that.  I’ll call you.”

 

“You better,” Bucky said, and it sounded cocky as Steve crossed the parkade. It was still dark outside, but the underground parking was lit as a safety measure Bucky paid into with his condo fees.  He could see Steve walking towards his bike, his strong back straight and proud, and his step unfaltering.  Bucky watched as Steve got on the bike and pulled on his helmet, turning back to raise his hand in Bucky’s direction before he turned on the engine and drove away.

 

Bucky took his finger off the door-open button and rode the elevator back up to his floor in silence.  He felt anything but cocky.


	8. The one where Bucky doesn't manage to fuck up 100%

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gets messy emotionally. They have a difficult conversation about what they've been doing to each other and really work for their happy ending.

x.x.x.

 

“You should have said something,” Steve’s voice said over the phone.  Bucky could hear the sounds of the city around him, the muffled sound of downtown driving behind him.  Steve sounded angry, and it made Bucky sit up so fast that his head was spinning.  He put down his carton of ice cream and wrapped his hand around the arm of his couch.

 

“About what?” Bucky demanded, because he never responded to someone being angry with him with anything other than snapping back at them.  Especially when it wasn’t work-related.  Bucky had the patience to be gentle when it wasn’t his own life, to talk people down or to use his words to sway the outcome of a situation towards him and his team.  He could do it easily when it wasn’t personal.

 

When it was personal, Bucky could have the social skills of a porcupine. 

 

“About the fact that you want us to be in a relationship.  I’ve been turning it over and over in my head since I left this morning, and I thought it was sweet for the first hour, but then I realized that you were completely unable to admit it.”

 

Bucky remained silent.  He’d inhaled when Steve had said that Bucky wanted them to be in a relationship and he hadn’t released the air from his lungs.

 

“At least you’re not denying it,” Steve conceded after Bucky had been silent for long enough for it to be a notable response.

 

All the air escaped from his lungs in a whoosh, like Bucky was a deflating balloon that Steve had just released.  “No,” he answered ruefully, released from absolute stillness.  He rubbed the back of his head, and relaxed back into the couch.  “I’m not denying it.”

 

Steve laughed.  “I thought…” he paused.  “I thought I was looking too much into it.  That you got cuddly when you relaxed enough into an understanding like the one we had.”

 

“Steve,” Bucky said seriously.  “I’m not exactly the cuddly type.  I have sex with people.  I don’t…” he closed his eyes.  Of course.  Of course Becca had been right.  She’d known him better than he could see himself.  “I don’t spend the weekend with them.”

 

“No?”

 

“I don’t bring people to work events who are regular fuck buddies.  It tends to make them think lines are blurring that aren’t.”

 

“Bucky?”

 

“I don’t...” his throat closed, making it hard to get the words out.  “I don’t spend hours talking on the phone on nights when I could be out picking someone up for way better time than quickly jerking off before sleep with someone’s voice in my ear.  But then it’s your voice, and there’s no better time than hearing you breathe my name, because that’s how I feel about you, Steve.”

 

“Like there’s no better time?” Steve sounded like he wasn’t sure whether that was a compliment or an insult, aggravated but fond.  Bucky was sure that if he could see Steve, there would be a frown line between his eyebrows but his mouth would be fighting off a smile.

 

“There’s no better time,” Bucky promised.  “Than when it’s you.  Do you think we can… is that ok to you? 

 

“Say it,” Steve demanded.

 

“I want to try an exclusive relationship with you, you asshole,” Bucky said, all in one breath.  “I know that I’m not the kind of person that you want.  Or really even deserve.  I’m never going to.. fuck, I’ll never be _nice_.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Steve answered, and he sounded surprised.  “I shouldn’t have said any of that to you.”

 

“I deserve it.”

 

“Provisionally, I’d like to be yours.”

 

“Provisionally?” Bucky echoed.

 

“How about you come up next weekend?  I think we should talk about it in person so we’re on the same page.”

 

Bucky thought talking about it in person was probably just an invitation for them to spend the two days fucking. 

 

“Whatever you want,” Bucky answered.  He exhaled once he hung up the phone.

 

Wow.

 

Ok.

 

Wow.

 

Ok.

 

**Wow.**

 

Ok, he did it.  He’d told Steve how he felt.  He’d picked his own terrified and mangled carcass out of that wreckage he’d created, and he’d done it.

 

… he’d done it.

 

He told someone that he wanted to be with them and he was happy about it, because it wasn’t someone, it was Steve.

 

Ok.

 

Wow.

 

He couldn’t stop smiling.

 

x.x.x.

 

Bucky’s Alerts for Steve went haywire on Wednesday in the middle of a meeting about an operation with the FBI’s Joint Task Force.  Bucky left his phone on silent during meetings, but he watched as alert after alert flashed on his screen, and he felt his heart clench in fear as he watched it happen.  The light attracted Sam’s gaze, and he reached out to tilt Bucky’s phone towards him, his eyebrows winging up when he read the screen.

 

“Steve’s out of the closet?”

 

“Seems so,” Bucky responded.

 

“Agent Barnes? Wilson? Have something to add.”

 

“His boyfriend just came out,” Sam told the room, looking pleased at the amount of confusion and disinterested eye rolls that garnered.  “On Ellen.”

 

“Wait.  Who’s his boyfriend?”

 

“Bucky has a boyfriend?”

 

“Who’s Ellen?”

 

“I have to make a phone call,” Bucky said abruptly, getting to his feet with his phone clasped in his hand.

 

[Interview with Ellen, Wednesday after Bucky’s confession]

 

 _I don’t have a boyfriend_ , Steve said with honesty that Bucky could read clearly on his face even on the small screen of his phone.  _I have someone I would like to try to create a future with, but I don’t think that can even start to happen unless I can confidently walk out the door with my hand in his.  Maybe it won’t work out.  Maybe he doesn’t want to walk around outside holding my hand and I was just.._.  Steve shrugged. _You know…  Fun.  But I think that if I want to make a future with anyone, man or woman, the first step is to be honest about who I am._

 

 _So there **may be** someone special?_   Ellen asked Steve, smile encouraging.

 

 _He’s very special.  He might even be someone very special for me.  I hope he is.  He didn’t ask me to come out, but I didn’t want it to become an issue of contention between us.  He’s far braver than I am and everyone who has ever known him since he was a teenager has known where he stands_. 

 

[End Interview]

 

“Are you okay?” Bucky asked the moment Steve picked up the phone.  “Shit, Steve.  On national television?”

 

“Yeah, it’s… something I’ve been thinking of doing for a while.”

 

“Has nothing to do with us?” Bucky questioned, amused.  Steve was such an idiot if he thought that Bucky would believe that.  “It’s okay that I gave you the courage to do something like this.  You’re right, it would be hard to start something if the first conversation we had to have was how to hide being together.  But I never had to face all of America, so you can’t think that I’m braver than what you just did.”

 

“I think you’re braver about everything.”

 

Bucky snorted.  “If only that were true.  Steve, I…”

 

Steve hummed in question when Bucky trailed off.

 

“I’ll see you on Friday night, hopefully,” he finally said.  “If you want to talk, you know where to find me.”

 

“If I want to talk?” Steve echoed.  “Buck, I’m about to get backlash and public opinion from millions of people.  I think I might need to.”

 

“I’ll try to be here.  I’m in the middle of a debrief and I’m not sure where I’ll be in a few hours, let alone available to talk.  But… I’m really proud of you, okay?  You can call me your boyfriend on national television if you want to.”

 

“Provisionally.”

 

“There’s that word again,” Bucky teased.  “But I think you really want to be official.  I get it, I’m a catch.”

 

“Yeah.  I do.”

 

“Ok,” Bucky answered with a smile.  “Ok.”

 

x.x.x.

 

Half of Bucky’s life should be labeled _confessions on a plane while stuck sitting next to Sam Wilson_.

 

“It got too serious,” Bucky answered Sam’s question, completely deadpan.  “He told America he was bi so we could be together?  I told him I didn’t want to see him again.”

 

“What?” Sam responded.  “Are you crazy?  What about how he made your heart feel aroused and swoopy?”

 

“I never said swoopy,” Bucky answered, closing his eyes and grinning.  He covered his eyes with a sleep mask, planning to get in a solid nap during the flight, but having a bit of fun with Sam felt more important.  “Can you imagine anything that screams commitment more than declaring it on national television?  Sure, dating an actor was hot for a while, did you see his ass? but it’s time to cut him loose.”

 

Sam gaped at him.  “I… you’re… not serious.”  Sam didn’t sound certain.

 

Insulting.

 

“I told him that I want to be exclusive and the next I hear from him he’s lighting up my phone with alerts about him coming out,” Bucky smiled.  He might never had said swoopy, but no one ever said that Sam was incapable of reading between the lines.  “I’d say we’re both very serious.”

 

“He wants to make a future _with you_?” Sam said, half with wonder and half in disbelief.  “He thinks _you’re_ special?”

 

“Good for you, you watched the interview,” Bucky answered.  “And I am special, fuck you very much.  Best sniper on the East Coast.  And also, my boyfriend is Captain America.  You don’t see any other FBI Agents snagging a Captain.”

 

“Actually…”

 

“Shut the fuck up, ok? Let me have this moment.”

 

x.x.x.

 

**New text from Becks:**

_Steve just came out on TV._

 

**New text from Becks:**

_The intrnt is going nuts and I feel like I’m keepng the bggest secret in the hstory of secrets._

 

**New text from Becks:**

_ur not running r u?_

 

**New text from Becks:**

_Bucky?_

 

**New text from Becks:**

_Bucky u ASSHAT_

 

**New text from Becks:**

_BUCKY HE CAME OUT FOR YOU WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?_

 

 **Bucky:** _Back off sis I’m on assignment and I can either text you and mom or talk on the phone with him and he takes priority so fuck off_.

 

x.x.x.

 

Bucky didn’t bother returning to DC once he was finished his most recent assignment.  He flew to New York, arriving at Steve’s apartment mid-afternoon.  He still had the key to the front door, and it struck him all the little ways Steve had already committed to him without Bucky taking it as him getting too close.  Steve had been different right from the start.  Bucky wasn’t usually someone who made mistakes in the field and then Steve Rogers had come along.

 

Steve returned home to find Bucky using his washing machine, sitting in the living room wearing a pair of Steve’s lounge pants and an old t-shirt.  Steve had the old townhouse retrofitted with air conditioning, and Bucky was enjoying the benefits after spending almost five days in Miami. 

 

“Oh,” Steve said, spotting Bucky on his couch and breaking out into a wide smile that had Bucky’s chest clenching.  “Hi.”

 

“Hi,” Bucky said, smiling back.  “I know you said the weekend and I ended up working through it, so I hope Monday is ok.”

 

“I just wanted you whenever you were available,” Steve answered, sinking onto the couch next to him.  He looked nervous, which wasn’t an expression on Steve that Bucky was used to, but he thought he probably looked the same.  “Monday is fine.”

 

“We’ve both had long weeks.  Do you want to talk now or wait?”

 

“Bandaid? Get it over with?”

 

“Ok,” Bucky said, taking a deep breath.  Somehow this was both easier and harder to do now that he had Steve in front of him.  “You have concerns?”

 

“I’m concerned that you don’t really want this,” Steve said in a soft tone.  He was looking at his knee, not able to face Bucky directly, and fuck.  Fuck.  Bucky had known ahead of time that this was going to be a difficult conversation to have, but he hadn’t been able to gauge how much it was going to hurt until Steve opened his mouth.  “I’m concerned,” he continued, with all the bravery and foolhardiness of the character he played, his eyes snapping up to meet Bucky’s.  “That you’re going to feel like I tricked you into feeling like this.  That you haven’t had time to adjust to the idea of it enough that you understand what you’re agreeing to when you agree to commitment.”

 

“Fuck you,” Bucky breathed.  “My parents have been married for over thirty years, do you think I don’t know what it’s like to agree to be with someone for the rest of your life?”

 

Steve squeezed his hand.  “I think you’ve shaped your life to be the exact opposite of their expectations of you and once you realize that being with me means that you gave in to one of the things you’ve been running from, you’ll resent me for trapping you.”

 

Steve didn’t say ‘it concerns me,’ this time, but Bucky could see the shape of it, the weight of the worry on his face.  It made him bite back the scathing response on the tip of his tongue.  He stared at Steve, jaw clenched against his first reaction, and considered, really considered, how his honesty and all the things he shared with Steve weren’t just Bucky opening up to someone.  They were also reasons why Bucky wasn’t a good bet for someone who wanted stability, someone who wanted all the things Bucky despised.  He understood that the reason why they were even having a conversation about this was that the Steve who had sat across from Bucky that first night, warm with wine and the promise of the possibility that the two of them were compatible, had never really left. 

 

“Bucky?” Steve questioned after Bucky had taken too long to formulate his thoughts.

 

“I think,” he started.  “No, I… I had a conversation with Sam a few weeks ago where I told him that – I told him.  He asked me why I wasn’t running, because he thought the same as you.  He knows my habits well enough by now to see that I should be turning and fleeing, and I realized that if I walked away then there wouldn’t be anyone left trying to see where this went, and the idea of it frightened me more than the idea of staying did.  I’m concerned,” Bucky said, with not a small bit of irony, “that you think I got hit over the head with this all at once instead of giving me the benefit of believing that maybe, strangely, we’re here because I’ve been choosing you all along.”

 

Steve made a face of disbelief at him.  “Things would have been a lot easier if you had chosen me.”

 

“At least since LA.  Steve, come on.  Do you think that I’m so blind that I could blithely not notice _everything_.  The texting, and the phone calls, and all the points of contact I initiated first until you were used to them.”

 

“I don’t know,” Steve answered, swiping his hair back on his head.  “ _I don’t know_.  You told me it would never happen, and I did my best to adjust to that, and now you’re telling me that I’m the person you want to be with, and I feel like I’ve spent a lot of time convincing myself it was all in my head.”

 

“Are you asking for time?” Bucky questioned.  “I can give you time.  Space.  Whatever you need.”

 

“No, I’m not asking for that, but can you just… hold me for a second?  It’s been a difficult week, and it’s not fair for me to allow fear to win out over rational thought, but I need a minute to think.”  Bucky slid closer to him on the couch, encouraging Steve to put his head on his shoulder.  Both of them needed a break from this conversation, but both of them needed to finish clearing the air more.  “What is it that you want?”  Steve finally asked.

 

“I want to tell people you’re my boyfriend, but only once I can say the word and it doesn’t make you cringe.”

 

“Can you say it without the idea of it making you cringe?  I’m one person, and I’d expect exclusivity now that you’re promising it to me.”

 

“You’ve been getting it for months.  There hasn’t been anyone else,” Bucky assured him.  “I haven’t had sex with anyone but you since Los Angeles.  I haven’t wanted to.  Every time I thought ‘hey I’d like to get laid tonight’ I ended up on the phone with you.”

 

Bucky didn’t expect Steve to wince. 

 

“But you haven’t?” Bucky observed.  It was a fair question.  They were only supposed to be occasional fuckbuddies so if Steve was seeing other people, then Bucky had absolutely no reason to be angry or hurt.  It would be hypocritical because the reality of it was that Steve had no way of knowing that Bucky was the one getting emotionally compromised.

 

It still felt like a kick to the gut.

 

“No, there hasn’t been anyone,” Steve answered, and then shook his head.  “Yes.  It’s complicated, depending on what you’re really asking me. I stopped contacting them months ago, but I didn’t officially end it until last week when you asked to be exclusive.”

 

“Ok.  Ok, that’s fair,” Bucky took a deep breath.  “I need you to say something reassuring, because if any of them were important to you, maybe I shouldn’t be the one sitting here with you.  Maybe it should be someone else, and it might be better to give you the chance to figure that out.”

 

“That’s not going to happen,” Steve answered in a stubborn tone.  “I asked you for all of this our first night together.  If anything, I know you better now and like you more for it than I did then.  I understand you, and I was right.  It’s always going to be real between us.”

 

“And you’re going to hold being right over my head for the rest of our lives.”  Bucky was trying for a joke, but it fell flat.

 

“Yes,” Steve answered in a frustrated tone.  “Of course I will.  Do you know why I kept a few of my casual relationships in the wings?  Because I eventually gave in to the idea that I couldn’t not be with you, and that eventually you were going to break me.  I’ve been expecting it for a long time, so I’m going to need you to say something reassuring _to me_ right now.”

 

“We’re going to break each other,” Bucky answered.  “I don’t know if that’s reassuring or not, but it’s the truth.  Even if everything works out between us and we’re still together five years from now, every fight and every bump in the road that got us there is going to be painful for both of us because you have just as much of an ability to break me as I have to break you.  And if we’re not together?  I won’t walk away from this intact.  I’ll be shattered.  We’ll break each other.”

 

"Bucky..."

 

"I want that," he insisted.  "I want to leave myself vulnerable to you.  You're worth the potential heartbreak, because it could be amazing too.  It already is, even with all the moments we've hurt each other.  You can walk away, Stevie, but if you do then you're walking away from a relationship.  I know I fucked up up to this point, but that decision will be on you."

 

"I don't want to walk away from this, Bucky! Would you let me talk?"

 

Bucky crossed his arms over his chest, looking defiant but feeling that vulnerability that he mentioned.  If Steve spoke, what he said would make it real.  He waved his hand to say 'go ahead'.  He didn’t think he was ready, but it was the kind of thing you could never be ready for.

 

"It’s not comforting, but it is reassuring. We’ll break each other,” Steve gave him a half-smile and a shrug.  “I’m in this with you, and you’re in this with me.  It doesn’t solve anything, but I’m glad to hear it.  I want to fall in love with you without feeling like those feelings are an enemy that will drive us apart.  I don’t want to dread seeing you again because it might be the last time.  It’s been awful.”

 

“Steve…”

 

“It’s been awful, but my answer is yes.”

 

For the first time in years, Bucky felt himself start to cry.  “Oh my god,” he said in response to the tears.  “That’s great, but I… oh my god.  I’m ruining the moment.”

 

“Bucky?”

 

“I’ve been a mess, I’m not really good at this.  Oh my god, why won’t they stop?”

 

Steve pulled him against his chest, not bothering to hide the fact he was laughing.  “It’s called emotions,” Steve said in a gentle tone.  “I think this one is labeled as relief.”

 

x.x.x.

 

Bucky awoke from his nap to his head pillowed against Steve’s chest.  His ear felt like it might never regain blood circulation, and his eyes were heavy and still damp.  Steve was right to have them air everything first because it felt like the difficult part of their relationship negotiations was over and they could take their time figuring out the easy stuff.  Steve’s stomach rumbled as he stroked his hand through Bucky’s hair, and Bucky lifted his head to look at him.

 

“Food?” he questioned, rolling off the couch and ending up on the floor in a tangle of limbs.  Steve peeked over at him, looking amused.  “I can cook… or, well… I should never actually cook, but I can order take out.”

 

“Sure,” Steve answered.

 

Bucky was just getting to his feet when his phone rang.  “Hi mom, I texted that the assignment was over and I’m ok.”

 

“Did you hear that little Stevie Rogers is bisexual?”

 

“He’s not so little, ma,” Bucky answered, rolling his eyes in exasperation.  “And he’s my age, you know.”

 

“I know that,” his mother answered in the same tone Bucky was using.  “I remember him coming to your birthday party when you were younger.  You insisted on him being there.  You had a very peculiar guest list that year.  None of the people you usually invited everywhere.”

 

Bucky didn’t remember that, but it fit really well with the stories Steve had told him and the photo he’d found.  “Yeah, well, they were assholes.”

 

“They were seven,” his mother reminded him.  “But they grew up to be assholes, and you were always really perceptive about people.  It sounds like maybe he needed a friend back then.”

 

“Maybe,” Bucky hedged, because he could see exactly where this was going based on almost thirty years of experience in dealing with his mother.

 

“It sounds like he could use a friend now,” his mom continued.  “I got his number from your sister.  Coming out can’t be easy, and you can probably give him some valuable insight about it.  Do you have a pen?”

 

Jesus Christ.  Bucky couldn’t even look at Steve now for fear of laughing.  Fucking Becca.

 

“No, _mom_.  I’m not calling him to be his queer guru.  It looks like he’s doing just fine.”

 

“He’s such a good Brooklyn boy,” his mother continued.  “You should call him.  Maybe if things don’t work out with this boy he’s seeing, you can be the person he turns to.”

 

Jesus Christ.

 

“I sincerely doubt he’s going to want to date me if things don’t work out with the person he was talking about on Ellen,” Bucky answered in an exasperated tone. 

 

‘ _What?_ ’ Steve mouthed at him.  Somehow he’d barely looked up at the phrase ‘queer guru’ but the part obviously about him had gotten his attention.  Bucky put his phone on speaker in response.

 

“That wasn’t what I meant, but now that you mention it, I think he would be good for you.  Have you been watching his tv show?  He’s your type, and you’re an attractive young man.  Are you telling me that you don’t think you could get him?  You could get Steve Rogers if you put your mind to it.”

 

Jesus Christ, his mother was trying to play him into making a move on Steve.  Steve, for his part, looked delighted.

 

“I don’t think he’d want to move on to me if things don’t work out with the person he’s interested in right now for two reasons: one, it sounds like he’s really serious about this guy and you shouldn’t be hoping that I’m the rebound for that type of relationship.  You should give up on this idea that I’m going to move back home and settle down with a _good Brooklyn boy_.  Believe me, Steve Rogers is not as good as he seems to be.  He has a temper, he’s a stubborn asshole, and he’s dated just as many people in the last year as I have.”

 

“But they were all women, so it’s not—“ she trailed off.

 

“He likes women too, mom,” Bucky answered, and even though he was aggravated by having this conversation, he said it gently.  “He’s like me.  Just because he enjoys the company of men doesn’t mean that a single one of those women were just for show.  You can’t dismiss them from his past just because he’s into a man right now.  If anything, it tells me that he’s dated more people than the ones he brought to events.”

 

She was silent for a moment, digesting what he’d said.  He knew that she got the basic concept.  It was something he’d hammered into both of his parents’ heads years ago.  “What’s the second reason?”

 

“Hmm?” Bucky hummed, smirking at Steve. 

 

“You said there were two reasons you didn’t think Steve would want to date you if things don’t work out for him now.  What’s the second?”

 

“Oh!” Bucky responded, pretending like he was surprised he forgot.  “Right.  That.  He’s not going to want to look at me if things don’t work out for him because I’m the guy.  I’m the one he’s seeing.”

 

“James Buchanan Barnes!” his mom started, flabbergasted.  “Don’t you…”

 

“I’ve got to go, mom.  Steve’s here.  But how about I bring him over for supper tonight?”

 

“What?”

 

“I’ll bring a pie from the place you like,” he promised, then ended the call.  “I did promise you food,” he managed to say to Steve in a nonchalant tone before giving in to hysterical laughter.

 

x.x.x.

 

A year before, when faced with the idea of Bucky bringing Steve home to have supper with his parents, he would have called it a nightmare.  A month before it would have been an obligation that put his teeth on edge.  When Bucky walked through the front door of his childhood home with Steve behind him, he felt nervous and uncomfortable.  It had been more than a decade since he had deliberately introduced someone to his parents as a permanent fixture in his life.

 

That rite of passage meant very little to him, and yet at the same time his mere presence was telling.  He was in Brooklyn.  With an amazing man he hoped to start a relationship with.  And Bucky didn’t mind that he was bringing Steve home. He thought that maybe it would help ease some of Steve’s worry that Bucky, while sincere, didn’t know what he was asking for.

 

“It’s so exciting that you’re going to be home more often,” his mother said, serving Steve a large slice of pie.   “Maybe you can get around to helping your father clean out the garage.  Raccoons are living in the eaves.”

 

“Now Winifred…”

 

“I’ll pay for someone to come in and do it,” Bucky said, grabbing the pie dish and scooping himself out a piece while his mom was fussing over Steve.

 

“Some things aren’t about money, Bucky,” his mom chided, clucking her tongue at him.  He wasn’t sure if it was because of his manners or because she actually thought he should be standing on a rickety old ladder and putting himself at risk for contracting rabies as a form of male bonding.  His dad didn’t seem to be in a hurry to deal with the racoons either.

 

Maybe she should just stand outside and glare at them disapprovingly.  Any raccoon dealing with that would be sure to flee within minutes.

 

“I’m not going to be in Brooklyn more often,” Bucky informed her around his mouthful of pie.  Then he looked at Steve, because they had talked about their feelings until they could barely stand to be around each other, but they hadn’t even broached the subject of how they were going to make the actual logistics work. 

 

Steve loved Brooklyn and Bucky loved his job.

 

In DC.

 

“But,” his mother insisted, looking between the two of them.  “Steve has a house here.”

 

Bucky opened his mouth to tell her that they hadn’t considered that yet, but he knew she wouldn’t understand why that wasn’t the first thing they had to talk about, just like she didn’t understand why Bucky was never moving back home.  She probably thought that the reason it took him so long to bring someone to meet them was because he was discerning. 

 

“We’re both away from home for work a lot,” Steve answered with a shrug.  “I have roots in Brooklyn, but it’s easy enough to be in DC when I’m not filming.  My job means that I can have multiple residences, but home is wherever I want it to be.  But you know that Bucky's job means he has to be based in DC.  It’s not really complicated.”

 

“We’ll probably be in Brooklyn for holidays,” Bucky pointed out as a concession.   He realized that it didn’t feel like as much of a compromise as it sounded.  He'd like to be in Brooklyn if Steve was with him.  He could picture the two of them curled up in front of the fireplace in Steve's living room, relaxed and knowing they'd be eventually going to Bucky's parents for festivities.  "If Steve has it off.”

 

His mother looked surprised.   His father just finished off his pie and wiped his mouth.  “Steve,” he said, “can you tell me whether Stark lives?”

 

x.x.x.

 

“Thanks,” Bucky said, throwing himself backwards on to his bed.  The old comforter on it smelled like laundry soap, meaning his mother still occasionally washed it.

 

Steve raised his eyebrows at him.

 

“For not complicating it with my mom.”

 

Steve shrugged, his hands in his pockets in that way he had that made it look like his shoulders were up around his ears.  Bucky almost sat up to ask him what was wrong when Steve started speaking again.  “It’s not a complicated situation.  I love Brooklyn, but you’ve been running from it for so long that I don’t think you know how to come back, even for the people you love.  I wouldn’t choose Brooklyn over you.  It would feel like an empty triumph to have this place but only because I gave up you for it.”

 

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed, like the words weren’t devastating. 

 

“I don’t think I knew that you were such a science fiction nerd,” Steve said, kneeling in front of Bucky’s bookcase.  The tattered, second-hand books were shoved into every free space Bucky could find in the small bookcase attached to his desk, double layered and overflowing to the point where the shelf had started to sag in the years since Bucky had lived in this room, but the books on the shelf below it had stopped the whole thing from collapsing.  “Are you still?”

 

“Yes,” Bucky answered, rolling on his side and looking at Steve.  “Books, mostly non-fiction.  I don’t watch television, but I have a weakness for… you’re going to laugh.”

 

“Will I?” Steve questioned, sitting on the edge of Bucky’s bed and stretching out beside him.  He rolled so that he was curled up next to Bucky, all six feet of him tucked around Bucky’s splayed limbs. 

 

“Definitely,” Bucky spoke, moving to his side so he was facing Steve directly.  Being face to face with Steve like this was nice, nice in a way he didn’t usually pause to appreciate when he was thinking about kissing Steve or had just finished kissing Steve.  “I love movies about space.  I’ll go to the theatre sometimes on my days off, treat myself to some popcorn, and watch a story about human ingenuity and space travel.”

 

“That’s not funny at all,” Steve answered, but he was giggling at Bucky, the skin around his eyes squinting into laugh lines that made Bucky grin to see them.  “It’s actually good to know you’re just like the rest of us and have a dorky undercarriage beneath all that tactical gear, gun oil, and manliness.”

 

“Manliness, huh?” Bucky mused, rolling on to his back and staring at his ceiling.  He wondered if the glow in the dark stars he painted up there right before seventh grade still worked.   

 

“Sure,” Steve answered, agreeing with himself.  “A thin veneer of it, really.  You’re not all biceps and a pretty face.”

 

“You think I’m the one with biceps and a pretty face?” Bucky questioned incredulously.  “Buddy let me tell you a thing about yourself.  Those were the only things about you that drew me in.”

 

“Are you trying to surprise me?  I was fully aware of that.” Steve shifted and the twin bedframe creaked ominously.  “I may have used them to get you to look at me.”

 

“Yeah, but it was the rest of it that kept me around.”

 

“I knew that too,” Steve promised, leaning in to kiss him.

 

“Like your ass.  Once I uncovered that, I was a goner.”

 

“You’re awful.”

 

“And yet you agreed to be my boyfriend.”

 

“I wonder why,” Steve answered.  Bucky wondered the same thing.  Steve fell silent, watching Bucky as Bucky stared at the ceiling.

 

“Imagine, if your cousin had forced us to meet, you might have seen this room years ago. You could have lost your virginity here.” Not that Bucky usually brought people to his bedroom, but Steve probably would have been an exception.  “Did you at least think about it, back then?  Did you fantasize about me?”

 

Steve was silent for a while.  “I was a small kid and it looked like I’d be a small adult too.  There was this summer I spent living with my aunt and uncle, and you used to hang out at the park across the street.  Half the time you were either doing some impossible feat on a skateboard or in the basketball court, and the other half of the time you were lounging shirtless on a bench and flirting with everyone around you.”

 

Bucky smiled at the memory, though half of him was also wincing at the mental image younger Bucky Barnes presented in his mind.

 

“I used to watch you from the bedroom window,” Steve continued with a self-effacing laugh.  “Like a huge creeper, actually, but I was also too sick leave the house that summer.  I was in town on a waiting list to get heart surgery.  You were fantastic entertainment.  I knew you were into guys too because sometimes you’d stay after dark and…”

 

“Yeah,” Bucky inserted quickly.  “I remember what you’re talking about.”

 

“Are you sure?” Steve asked, sounding amused.  “You seem to have a shitty memory, but then I didn’t watch the whole thing once I realized what was happening.  You seemed so self-assured with everything, including your sexuality.  I… yeah, I thought about it.”

 

“What did you think about?” Bucky questioned. 

 

Steve laughed again, and while he was speaking freely about it, his laugh told Bucky just how awkward he found the conversation too.  “I thought about having a good day and maybe walking over there to meet you.  Or maybe you noticing me watching and crossing the street to confront me.  We’d talk.  You’d hold my hand.  We’d kiss.  It was mostly PG-13 because I didn’t really have much of an interest in sex back then.”

 

“That’s adorable.  You wanted to be my boyfriend.”  He couldn’t stop smiling at the idea.

 

“Essentially.  But then, I came back for a week the next summer and didn’t see you once, but I definitely thought about seeing you a lot.  That’s when my cousin offered to introduce us.”

 

Now that Bucky knew who Steve’s cousin was, he knew it was definitely a possibility.  Becca would know if her best friend ever tried to set them up back then.  She’d remember.  Bucky kind of wanted to ask.

 

“Do I live up to everything you fantasized about?”

 

“There’s a lot less hand-holding,” Steve decided. 

 

“You definitely did not need anyone to hold your hand,” Bucky promised.  “We could role play it if you want to play the blushing virgin, though.  I’ll give you all the hand holding, sweaty palms, and patient guidance I’m capable of.”

 

Steve looked down and bit his lip.  “Bucky, I don’t know if we should do this,” he said.  “Your parents are right downstairs.  What if they hear?”

 

It was on the tip of Bucky’s tongue to tell Steve that his parents had heard a lot worse when Steve raised his eyes to look at Bucky, all wide and vulnerable.

 

Fuck.

 

Steve was an actor.  He was actually good at this kind of stuff.

 

“I…” Bucky responded, getting flustered.  He didn’t know how to respond and for one shining second Steve was the one who was completely certain about his place in the room.   “It’s ok baby,” Bucky finally managed to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth.  “Give me your hand.  We can just cuddle for a little while.”

 

Steve smiled at him, tentatively reaching for his hand.  He curled himself around Bucky and relaxed into him for a moment.

 

Then he started to laugh.  “Oh my god, _we can just cuddle for a while_.  Be careful, you almost needed to safeword out of that one.”

 

What a fucking asshole.

 

“I love you,” Bucky said, pressing his mouth against Steve’s forehead.

 

“Oh,” Steve answered, surprised.  “I…”

 

“You’ve said that you need time to fall for me properly, but while you were trying and succeeding not to, I was falling in headfirst.  I want you to know that.”

 

“Wow, ok.  You’re swell.”

 

And that, captive audience, was the person Bucky had chosen to give his heart to.  What a fucking asshole.  “I think I love you more for that.”

 

x.x.x.

 

"Hey," Bucky said, opening the door to find Steve standing on the other side.  He wasn't surprised to see his boyfriend at his door, but he was surprised that Steve hadn't taken the opportunity to use his key.  Bucky had gotten it cut for him and everything.  It was a big momentous moment in Bucky’s life and Steve wasn’t even taking it out of his pocket.  He’d just knocked like he was a normal person and not someone who _owned a key_.

 

"It's symbolic," Steve said, responding to Bucky's questioning eyebrows.  "The last time I'll walk over this threshold before officially moving in.  I don't think either of us really expected to get to this point."

 

"No," Bucky agreed, holding the door open, "but I feel like this is where you belong."  Steve's suitcase was big enough that it looked like he could live out of it for a month, which was good considering that he was spending two weeks with Bucky and then leaving for six weeks on location.  "Would you like to come in?" He offered in a gracious tone.  He thought it might come out sounding sarcastic, but there was too much weight behind the significance of it.  Steve was right to know that this was a meaningful moment.  Wherever they ended up in the future, Steve stepping over the threshold was a memory.

 

It was good for Bucky to be standing there letting him in.

 

"Thanks," Steve smiled and walked through the doorway.   

 

That simple action shouldn't have as much of an impact on Bucky as it did, but he could feel his heart swell with happiness, thrilled and terrified beyond words.

 

"Welcome home," Bucky said, reaching out and kissing Steve.

**Author's Note:**

> Stucky Big Bang Artwork:
> 
>    
> [thatotherfiend's smirking sniper Bucky.](http://thatotherfiend.tumblr.com/post/149681494387)
> 
> [maichan808's sexy sexy semi-nsfw piece. ](http://maichan808.tumblr.com/post/149605865128)
> 
> AND ofc, you can [find me on tumblr.](http://relenafanel.tumblr.com/)


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